LIZA 


V 


7 


HENRY  HOLT 


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ABOOT,  CALIFORNIA 

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THE   #AN   WITH   TH^Rb- 
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F|Y-LEAVES.     Vtnes. 
"«AVENDISH." 

LOLA. 
GROHMAN,  W.  A.  B. 

THH  N  *yr  \f  Y*  g  NQSH..  

Card  Essays,  Clay's  Decisions 

GADDINGS  WITH   A  PRIMI- 

and Card  Table  Talk. 

ALCESTIS.    A  Hurtcal 

TIVE  PEOPLE. 

Novel. 

CHERBULIEZ,  V. 

HARDY,  THOMAS. 

ALEXANDER,  Mr*. 

JOSEPH  NOIREL'S  REVENGE. 
COUNT  KOSTIA. 

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STEIN. 

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JACOBI'S. 

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JENKIN,  Mr*.  O. 

LORLEY  AND  RBINHARD. 

AROUND  A  SPRTNG. 

WHO  BREAKS—  PAYS. 

ALOYS. 

ENAULT,   LOUIS. 

SKIRMISHING. 

POET  AND  MERCHANT. 

CHRISTINE. 

A  PSYCHE  OF  TO-DAY. 
MADAME  DE  BEAUPRB. 

LANDOLIN. 

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JUPITER'S  DAUGHTERS. 

WALDFRIBD. 

WYNCOTE. 

WITHIN  AN  ACE. 

BRIGITTA. 

FEUILLET,  O. 

JOHNSON,  Rosslter. 

SPINOZA. 

ROMANCE  OF  A  POOR  YOUNG 
MAN. 

PLAY-DAY  POEMS. 

MASTER  BISUVND. 
BEERBOHM,  J. 

FOTHERGILL.  JES- 
SIE. 

LAFFAN,  MAY. 

THE  HON  Miss  FERRARD. 

•VANDF.RINGS  IN  PATAGONIA 

THE  FIRST  VIOLIN. 

CHRISTY  CAREW. 

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EMILY. 

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LITERATURE. 

ONE  OF  THREE. 
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A  CHELSEA  HOUSEHOLDER. 

A  MILLIONAIRE'S  COUSIN. 

BESANT,  "Walter. 

FRANCILLON,  R.  £. 

LUCY,  HENRY  W. 

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UNDER  SLIEVE-BAN. 

GIDEON  FLEYCB. 

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INGO. 
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PICTURES  FROM  IRELAND. 

BUTT,  B.  M. 

QAUTIER,  T. 

MAJENDIE.Lady  M. 

MISS  MOLLY. 

CAPTAIN  FRACASSB.   Illus. 

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EUGENIE. 

GIFT.  THEO. 

DlTA. 

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MAXWELL,  CECIL. 

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LEISURE-HOUR   SERIES. 


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POYNTER,  E.  F. 

MY  LITTLE  LADY. 
ERSILIA. 

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RICHARDSON,  8. 
CLARISSA  HARI.OWE,    (Con- 

denscfi.) 

RICHTER,  J.  P.  F. 

FLOWER, FRUIT.AND  THORN 

PIECES,    a  vols. 
CAMPANER  THAL,  etc. 
TITAN,    a  vols. 
HESPERUS,    a  vols. 
THE  INVISIBLE  LODGE. 


(Continued.) 

ROBERTS.  Mis*. 

NOBLESSE  OBLIGE, 

ON  THE  EDGE  OF  STORM. 

IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 
SCHMID,  H. 

THE  HABERMEISTER. 
SERGEANT,  ADEL. 

BEYOND  RECALL. 
SLIP  In  the  FENS.  A 
SMITH.  H.  and  J. 

REIECTED  ADDRESSES. 

SPARHAWK,  F.  O. 

A  LAZY  MAN'S  WORK. 

8PIELHAGEN,  F. 

WHAT  THE  SWALLOW  SANG. 

SPOFFORD,  H.  P. 

THE  AMBER  GODS. 
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NEW  ARABIAN  NIGHTS. 
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MY  FRIENDS  AND  I. 

THACKERAY.W.  M 

EARLY  AND  LATH  PAPERS. 

TYTLER,  O.  O.  F. 

MISTRESS  JUDITH. 
JONATHAN. 


TURGENIEFF,  I. 

FATHERS  AND  SONS. 

SMOKE. 

LIZA. 

ON  THE  EVR. 

DIMITRI  ROUDINE. 

SPRING  FLOOPS;  LEAR. 

VIRGIN  SOIL. 

ANNALS  OF  A  SPORTSMAN. 
VERB  DE  800IETE. 
VILLARI,  LINDA. 

IN  CHANGE  UNCHANGED. 
WALFORD.  L.  B 

MR.  SMITH. 

PAULINE. 

COUSINS. 

TROUBLESOME  DAUGHTERS. 

DICK  NETHERBY. 

THE  BABY'S  GRANDMOTHER' 
WINTHROP,  THEO. 

CECIL  DREEME,  •w.  Portrait 

CANOE  AND  SADDLE. 

JOHN  BRENT. 

EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

LIFE  IN  THE  OPFN  AIR. 
WYLDE.  Katharine. 

A  DREAMER. 
YESTERDAY. 


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BY    THE    SAME     AUTHOR. 
(Leisure  Hour  Series.) 

FATHERS   AND    SONS. 

SMOKE. 

LIZA. 

ON  THE  EVE. 

DIMITRI  ROUDINE. 

SPRING  FLOODS;  LEAR. 

VIRGIN   SOIL. 

ANNALS  OF  A  SPORTSMAN. 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


LIZA 

OR  "A  NEST  OF  NOBLES" 


A     NOVEL 


IVAN     S.    TURGENIEFF 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   RUSSIAN 


W.  R.  S.  RALSTON 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND   COMPANY 

1873 


DEDICATED    TO    THE    AUTHOR. 

BY    HIS    FRIEND 
T  HE    T  R  A  N  S  L  A  TOR. 


PREFACE. 

THE  author  of  the  Dvoryanskoc  Gnyezdo,  or  "  Nest 
of  Nobles,"  of  which  a  translation  is  now  offered  to  the 
English  reader  under  the  title  of  "  Liza,"  is  a  writer  of 
whom  Russia  may  well  be  proud.  And  that,  not  only 
because  he  is  a  consummate  artist, — entitled  as  he  is  to 
take  high  rank  among  those  of  European  fame,  so 
accurate  is  he  in  his  portrayal  of  character,  and  so 
quick  to  seize  and  to  fix  even  its  most  fleeting  expres- 
sion ;  so  vividly  does  he  depict  by  a  few  rapid  touches 
the  appearance  of  the  figures  whom  he  introduces  upon 
his  canvas,  the  nature  of  the  scenes  among  which  they 
move, — he  has  other  and  even  higher  claims  than  these 
to  the  respect  and  admiration  of  Russian  readers.  For 
he  is  a  thoroughly  conscientious  worker ;  one  who,  amid 
all  his  dealings  with  fiction,  has  never  swerved  from  his 
regard  for  what  is  real  and  true ;  one  to  whom  his  own 

*  Notwithstanding  the  unencouraging  opinion  expressed  by  Mr. 
Ralston  in  this  preface,  of  the  probable  fate  of  "  Fathers  and  Chil- 
dren," and  '  Smoke,"  with  the  English  public,  both  have  been 
translated  in  America  and  have  met  with  very  fair  success.  Of 
course,  even  more  may  be  hoped  for  the  author's  other  works. 


8  Preface. 

country  and  his  own  people  are  very  dear,  but  who  has 
neither  timidly  bowed  to  the  prejudices  of  his  countr)'- 
men,  nor  obstinately  shut  his  eyes  to  their  faults. 

His  first  prose  work,  the  "  Notes  of  a  Sportsman " 
(Zapiski  Okhotnika),  a  collection  of  sketches  of  country 
life,  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  upon  the 
minds  of  the  educated  classes  in  Russia,  so  vigorous 
were  its  attacks  upon  the  vices  of  that  system  of  slavery 
which  was  then  prevalent.  Those  attacks  had  all  the 
more  weight,  inasmuch  as  the  book  was  by  no  means 
exclusively  devoted  to  them.  It  dealt  with  many  other 
subjects  connected  with  provincial  life ;  and  the  humor 
and  the  pathos  and  the  picturesqueness  with  which  they 
were  treated  would  of  themselves  have  been  sufficient 
to  commend  it  to  the  very  favorable  attention  of  his 
countrymen.  But  the  sad  pictures  he  drew  in  it,  occa- 
sionally and  almost  as  it  were  accidentally,  of  the 
wretched  position  occupied  by  the  great  masses  of  the 
people,  then  groaning  under  the  weight  of  that  yoke 
which  has  since  been  removed,  stirred  the  heart  of 
Russian  society  with  a  thrill  of  generous  horror  and 
sympathy ;  and  the  effect  thus  produced  was  all  the  more 
permanent  inasmuch  as  it  was  attained  by  thoroughly 


Preface.  9 

legitimate  means.  Far  from  exaggerating  the  ills  of 
which  he  wrote,  or  describing  them  in  sensational  and 
declamatory  language,  he  treated  them  in  a  style  that 
sometimes  seemed  almost  cold  in  its  reticence  and  free- 
dom from  passion.  The  various  sketches  of  which  the 
volume  was  composed  appeared  at  intervals  in  a  Rus- 
sian magazine,  called  the  Contemporary  (Sovremennik), 
about  three-and-twenty  years  ago,  and  were  read  in  it 
with  avidity ;  but  when  the  first  edition  of  the  collected 
work  was  exhausted,  the  censors  refused  to  grant  per- 
mission to  the  author  to  print  a  second,  and  so  for  many 
years  the  complete  book  was  not  to  be  obtained  in  Rus- 
sia without  great  difficulty.  Now  that  the  good  fight  of 
emancipation  has  been  fought,  and  the  victory — thanks 
to  the  present  Emperor — has  been  won,  M.  Turgenieff 
has  every  reason  for  looking  back  with  pride  upon  that . 
phase  of  the  struggle  ;  and  his  countrymen  may  well 
have  a  feeling  of  regard,  as  well  as  of  respect,  for  him — - 
the  upper -classes  as  for  one  who  has  helped  them  to 
recognize  their  duty ;  the  lower,  as  for  a  very  generous 
supporter  in  their  time  of  trouble. 

M.  Turgenieff  has  written  a  great  number  of  very 
charming  short  stories,  most  of  them  having  reference 


io  Preface. 

to  Russia  and  Russian  life  ;  for  though  he  lias  lived  in 
Germany  for  many  years,  his  thoughts,  whenever  he 
takes  up  his  pen,  almost  always  seem  to  go  back  to  his 
native  land.  Besides  these,  as  well  as  a  number  of 
critical  essays,  plays,  and  poems,  he  has  brought  out 
several  novels,  or  rather  novelettes,  for  none  of  them 
have  attained  to  three-volume  dimensions.  Of  these, 
the  most  remarkable  are  the  one  I  have  now  translated, 
which  appeared  about  eleven  years  ago,  and  the  two 
somewhat  polemical  stories,  called  "  Fathers  and  Chil- 
dren "  (Otsui  i  Dyeti)  and  "  Smoke  "  (Duitn).  The  first 
of  the  three  I  may  leave  to  speak  for  itself,  merely  add- 
ing that  I  trust  that — although  it  appears  under  all  the 
disadvantages  by  which  even  the  most  conscientious  of 
translations  must  always  be  attended — it  may  be  looked 
upon  by  English  readers  with  somewhat  of  the  admira- 
tion which  I  have  long  felt  for  the  original,  on  account 
of  the  artistic  finish  of  its  execution,  the  purity  of  its 
tone,  and  the  delicacy  and  the  nobleness  of  the  senti- 
jnent  by  which  it  is  pervaded. 

The  story  of  "  Fathers  and  Children  "  conveys  a  vig- 
orous and  excessively  clever  description  of  the  change 
that  has  taken  place  of  late  years  in  the  thoughts  and 


Preface.  \  \ 

feelings  of  the  educated  classes  of  Russian  society 
One  of  the  most  interesting  chapters  in  "  Liza  " — one 
which  may  be  skipped  by  readers  who  care  for  nothing 
but  incident  in  a  story — describes  a  conversation  which 
takes  place  between  the  hero  and  one  of  his  old  college 
friends.  The  sketch  of  the  disinterested  student,  who 
has  retained  in  mature  life  all  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
college  days,  is  excellent,  and  is  drawn  in  a  very  kindly 
spirit.  But  in  "  Fathers  and  Children  "  an  exaggeration 
of  this  character  is  introduced,  serving  as  a  somewhat 
scare-crow-like  embodiment  of  the  excessively  hard 
thoughts  and  very  irreverent  speculations  in  which  the 
younger  thinkers  of  the  new  school  indulge.  This  char- 
acter is  developed  in  the  story  into  dimensions  which 
must  be  styled  inordinate  if  considered  from  a  purely 
artistic  point  of  view ;  but  the  story  ought  not  to  be  so 
regarded.  Unfortunately  for  its  proper  appreciation 
among  us,  it  cannot  be  judged  aright,  except  by  readers 
who  possess  a  thorough  knowledge  of  what  was  going 
on  in  Russia  a  few  years  ago,  and  who  take  a  keen 
and  lively  interest  in  the  subjects  which  were  then 
being  discussed  there.  To  all  others,  many  of  its  chap 
ters  will  seem  too  unintelligible  and  wearisome,  both 


1 3  Preface. 

linked  together  into  interesting  unity  by  the  slendei 
thread  of  its  story,  beautiful  as  many  of  its  isolated 
passages  are.  The  same  objection  may  be  made  to 
"  Smoke."  Great  spaces  in  that  work  are  devoted  to 
caricatures  of  certain  persons  and  opinions  of  note  in 
Russia,  but  utterly  unknown  in  England — pictures 
which  either  delight  or  irritate  the  author's  countrymen, 
according  to  the  tendency  of  their  social  and  political 
speculations,  but  which  are  as  meaningless  to  the  untu- 
tored English  eye  as  a  collection  of  "  H.  B."  's  drawings 
would  be  to  a  Russian  who  had  never  studied  English 
politics.  Consequently  neither  of  these  stories  is  likely 
ever  to  be  fully  appreciated  among  us.* 

The  last  novelette  which  ^M.  Turgenieff  has  pub- 
lished, "  The  Unfortunate  One"  (Neschastnaya)  is  free 
from  the  drawbacks  by  which,  as  far  as  English  readers 
are  concerned,  "  Fathers  and  Children  "  and  "  Smoke  " 
are  attended ;  but  it  is  exceedingly  sad  and  painful.  It 
is  said  to  be  founded  on  a  true  story,  a  fact  which  may 
account  for  an  intensity  of  gloom  in  its  coloring,  the 

*  A  detailed  account  of  both  of  these  stories,  as  well  as  of  sev 
eral  other  works  by  M.  Turgenieff,  will  be  found  in  the  number  of 
the  North  British  Review  for  March,  1869. 


Preface.  13 

darkness  of  which  would  otherwise  seem  almost  unar- 
tistically  overcharged. 

Several  of  M.  TurgeniefPs  works  have  already  been 
translated  into  English.  The  "Notes  of  a  Sportsman"  ap- 
peared about  fourteen  years  ago,  under  the  title  of  "Rus- 
sian Life  in  the  Interior ;  "*  but,  unfortunately,  the  French 
translation  from  which  they  were  (with  all  due  acknowl- 
edgment) rendered,  was  one  which  had  been  so  "  cooked" 
for  the  Parisian  market,  that  M.  Turgenieff  himself  felt 
bound  to  protest  against  it  vigorously.  It  is  the  more 
unfortunate  inasmuch  as  an  admirable  French  transla- 
tion of  the  work  was  afterwards  made  by  M.  Delaveau.f 

Still  more  vigorously  had  M.  Turg6nieff  to  protest 
against  an  English  translation  of  "  Smoke,"  which  ap- 
peared a  few  months  ago. 

The  story  of  "  Fathers  and  Children  "  has  also  ap- 
peared in  English;|  but  as  the  translation  was  pub- 
lished on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  it  has  as  yet 

*  "  Russian  Life  in  the  Interior."  Edited  by  J.  D.  Meiklejohn. 
Hack,  Edinburg,  1855. 

f  "  Recits  d'un  Chasseur."  Tradnits  par  IT.  Delavea,  Paris, 
1858. 

\  "  Fathers  and  Sons."  Translated  from  the  Russian  by  Eugene 
Sclmyler.  New  York  1867. 


14  Preface. 

served  but  little  to  make  M.  Turg6nieff's  name  known 
among  us. 

The  French  and  German  translations  of  M.  Turg6- 
nieffs  works  are  excellent.  From  the  French  versions 
of  M.  Delaveau,  M.  Xavier  Mannier,  M.  Prosper  Meri- 
me"e,  M.  Viardot,  and  several  others,  a  very  good  idea 
may  be  formed  by  the  general  reader  of  M.  Turgdnieff  s 
merits.  For  my  own  part,  I  wish  cordially  to  thank  the 
French  and  the  German  translators  of  the  Dvoryanskoe 
Gnyezdo  for  the  assistance  their  versions  rendered  me 
while  I  was  preparing  the  present  translation  of  that 
story.  The  German  version,  by  M.  Paul  Fuchs,*  is 
wonderfully  literal.  The  French  version,  by  Count 
Sollogub  and  M.  A.  de  Calonne,  which  originally  ap- 
peared in  the  Revue  Contemporaine,  without  being  quite 
so  close,  is  also  very  good  indeed. f 

I,  too,  have  kept  as  closely  as  I  possibly  could  to  the 
original.  Indeed,  the  first  draft  of  the  translation  was 
absolutely  literal,  regardless  of  style  or  even  idiom. 
While  in  that  state,  it  was  revised  by  the  Russian  friend 

*  Das  adelige  Nest.     Von  I.  S.  Turgeneff.     Aus  clem  Russichca 
lihersetzt  von  Paul  Fuchs.     Leipzig,  1862. 

f  Une  Nichee  de  Gentilshomincs.     Paris,  1862, 


Preface.  1 5 

who  assisted  me  in  my  translation  of  Krilof  s  Fables — 
M.  Alexander  Onegine — and  to  his  painstaking  kind- 
ness I  am  greatly  indebted  for  the  hope  I  venture  to 
entertain  that  I  have  not  "  traduced  "  the  author  I  have 
undertaken  to  translate.  It  may  be  as  well  to  state  that 
in  the  few  passages  in  which  my  version  differs  design- 
edly from  the  ordinary  text  of  the  original,  I  have  fol- 
lowed the  alterations  which  M.  Turgdnieff  made  with 
his  own  hand  in  the  copy  of  the  story  on  which  I  worked, 
and  the  title  of  the  story  has  been  altered  to  its  present 
form  with  his  consent. 

I  may  as  well  observe  also,  that  while  I  have  inserted 
notes  where  I  thought  their  presence  unavoidable,  I 
have  abstained  as  much  as  possible  from  diverting  the 
reader's  attention  from  the  story  by  obtrusive  asterisks, 
referring  to  what  might  seem  impertinent  observations 
at  the  bottom  of  the  page.  The  Russian  forms  of  name 
I  have  religiously  preserved,  even  to  the  extent  of  using 
such  a  form  as  Ivanich,  as  well  as  Ivanovich,  when  it  is 
employed  by  the  author. 

INN-ER  TEMPLE,  June  i,  1869. 


LIZA. 


A  BEAUTIFUL  spring  day  was  drawing  to  a  clost. 
High  aloft  in  the  clear  sky  floated  small  rosy  cloudy 
which  seemed  never  to  drift  past,  but  to  be  slowly  ab- 
sorbed into  the  blue  depths  beyond. 

At  an  open  window,  in  a  handsome  mansion  situ- 
ated in  one  of  the  outlying  streets  of  O.,  the  chief 
town  of  the  government  of  that  name — it  was  in  the 
year  1842 — there  were  sitting  two  ladies,  the  one  about 
fifty  years  old,  the  other  an  old  woman  of  seventy. 

The  name  of  the  first  was  Maria  Dmitrievna  Kali- 
tine.  Her  husband,  who  had  formerly  occupied  the 
post  of  Provincial  Procurator,  and  who  was  well  known 
in  his  day  as  a  good  man  of  business — a  man  of  bilious 
temperament,  confident,  resolute,  and  enterprising — 
had  been  dead  ten  years.  He  had  received  a  good 
education,  and  had  studied  at  the  university,  but  as  the 
family  from  which  he  sprang  was  a  poor  one,  he  had 
early  recognized  the  necessity  of  making  a  career  for 
himself  and  of  gaining  money. 

Maria  Dmitrievna  married  him  for  love.     He  was 


r  8  Liza. 

good-looking,  he  had  plenty  of  sense,  and,  when  he 
liked,  he  could  be  very  agreeable.  Maria  Dmitrievna, 
whose  maiden  name  was  Pestof,  lost  her  parents  while 
she  was  still  a  child.  She  spent  several  years  in  an 
Institute  at  Moscow,  and  then  went  to  live  with  her 
brother  and  one  of  her  aunts  at  Pokrovskoe,  a  family 
estate  situated  fifteen  versts  from  O.  Soon  afterwards 
her  brother  was  called  away  on  duty  to  St  Peters- 
burgh,  and,  until  a  sudden  death  put  an  end  to  his 
career,  he  kept  his  aunt  and  sister  with  only  just 
enough  for  them  to  live  upon.  Maria  Dmitrievna  in- 
herited Pokrovskoe,  but  she  did  not  long  reside 
there.  In  the  second  year  of  her  marriage  with  Kali- 
tine,  who  had  succeeded  at  the  end  of  a  few  days  in 
gaining  her  affections,  Pokrovskoe  was  exchanged  for 
another  estate — one  of  much  greater  intrinsic  value, 
but  unattractive  in  appearance,  and  not  provided  with 
a  mansion.  At  the  same  time  Kalitine  purchased  a 
house  in  the  town  of  O.,  and  there  he  and  his  wife  per- 
manently established  themselves.  A  large  garden  was 
attached  to  it,  extending  in  one  direction  to  the  fields 
outside  the  town,  "  so  that,"  Kalitine,  who  was  by  no 
means  an  admirer  of  rural  tranquillity,  used  to  say, 
"  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  go  dragging  our- 
selves off  into  the  country."  Maria  Dmitrievna  often 
secretly  regretted  her  beautiful  Pokrovskoe,  with  its 
joyous  brook,  its  sweeping  meadows,  and  its  verdant 
woods,  but  she  never  opposed  her  husband  in  any  thing, 
having  the  highest  respect  for  his  judgment  and  his 


Liza.  \  9 

knowledge  of  the  world.  And  when  he  died,  after 
fifteen  years  of  married  life,  leaving  behind  him  a  son 
and  two  daughters,  Maria  Dmitrievna  had  grown  so 
accustomed  to  her  house  and  to  a  town  life,  that  she 
had  no  inclination  to  change  her  residence. 

In  her  youth  Maria  Dmitrievna  had  enjoyed  the 
reputation  of  being  a  pretty  blonde,  and  even  in  her 
fiftieth  year  her  features  were  not  unattractive,  though 
they  had  lost  somewhat  of  their  fineness  and  delicacy. 
She  was  naturally  sensitive  and  impressionable,  rather 
than  actually  good-hearted,  and  even  in  her  years  of 
maturity  she  continued  to  behave  in  the  manner  pecu- 
liar to  "Institute  girls;"  she  denied  herself  no  indul- 
gence, she  was  easily  put  out  of  temper,  and  she  would 
even  burst  into  tears  if  her  habits  were  interfered  with. 
On  the  other  hand,  she  was  gracious  and  affable  when 
all  her  wishes  were  fulfilled,  and  when  nobody  opposed 
her  in  any  thing.  Her  house  was  the  pleasantest  in 
the  town  ;  and  she  had  a  handsome  income,  the  greater 
part  of  which  was  derived  from  her  late  husband's 
earnings,  and  the  rest  from,  her  own  property.  Her 
two  daughters  lived  with  her ;  her  son  was  being  edu- 
cated in  one  of  the  best  of  the  crown  establishments 
at  St.  Petersburgh. 

The  old  lady  who  was  sitting  at  the  window  with 
Maria  Dmitrievna  was  her  father's  sister,  the  aunt  with 
whom  she  had  formerly  spent  so  many  lonely  years  at 
Pokrovskoe.  Her  name  was  Marfa  Timofeevna  Pestof. 
She  was  looked  upon  as  an  original,  being  a  woman  of 


2o  Liza. 

an  independent  character,  who  bluntly  told  the  truth  to 
every  one,  and  who,  although  her  means  were  very 
small,  behaved  in  society  just  as  she  would  have  done 
had  she  been  rolling  in  wealth.  She  never  could  abide 
the  late  Kali  tine,  and  as  soon  as  her  niece  married  him 
she  retired  to  her  own  modest  little  property,  where  she 
spent  ten  whole  years  in  a  peasant's  smoky  hut.  Maria 
Dmitrievna  was  rather  afraid  of  her.  Small  in  stature, 
with  black  hair,  a  sharp  nose,  and  eyes  which  even  in 
old  age  were  still  keen,  Marfa  Timofeevna  walked 
briskly,  held  herself  bolt  upright,  and  spoke  quickly 
but  distinctly,  and  with  a  loud,  high-pitched  voice.  She 
always  wore  a  white  cap,  and  a  white  kofta*  always 
formed  part  of  her  dress. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  suddenly  asked.  "  What 
are  you  sighing  about  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  What 
lovely  clouds  !  " 

"  You  are  sorry  for  them,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Maria  Dmitrievna  made  no  reply. 

"  Why  doesn't  Gedeonovsky  come  ?  "  continued 
Marfa  Timofeevna,  rapidly  plying  her  knitting  needles. 
(She  was  making  a  long  worsted  scarf.)  "  He  would 
have  sighed  with  you.  Perhaps  he  would  have  uttered 
some  platitude  or  other." 

"  How  unkindly  you  always  speak  of  him  !  Sergius 
Petrovich  is — a  most  respectable  man." 

*  A  sort  of  jacket. 


Liza.  2 1 

"  Respectable  !  "  echoed  the  old  lady  reproachfully. 

"And  then,"  continued  Maria  Dmitrievna,  "how 
devoted  he  was  to  my  dear  husband !  Why,  he  can 
never  think  of  him  without  emotion." 

"  He  might  well  be  that,  considering  that  your  hus- 
band pulled  him  out  of  the  mud  by  the  ears,"  growled 
Marfa  Timofeevna,  the  needles  moving  quicker  than 
ever  under  her  fingers.  "  He  looks  so  humble,"  she 
began  anew  after  a  time.  "  His  head  is  quite  grey,  and 
yet  he  never  opens  his  mouth  but  to  lie  or  to  slander. 
And,  forsooth,  he  is  a  councillor  of  state  !  Ah,  well, 
to  be  sure,  he  is  a  priest's  son."  * 

"  Who  is  there  who  is  faultless,  aunt  ?  It  is  true  that 
he  has  this  weakness.  Sergius  Petrovich  has  not  had  a 
good  education,  I  admit — he  cannot  speak  French — 
but  I  beg  leave  to  say  that  I  think  him  exceedingly 
agreeable." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  fawns  on  you  like  a  dog.  As  to  his 
not  speaking  French,  that's  no  great  fault.  I  am  not 
very  strong  in  the  French  '  dialect '  myself.  It  would 
be  better  if  he  spoke  no  language  at  all ;  he  wouldn't 
tell  lies  then.  But  of  course,  here  he  is,  in  the  very 
nick  of  time,"  continued  Marfa  Timofeevna,  looking 
down  the  street.  "  Here  comes  your  agreeable  man, 
striding  along.  How  spindle-shanked  he  is,  to  be  sure 
— just  like  a  stork  !  " 

*  Popovich,  or  son  of  a  pope  j  a  not  over  respectful  designation 
in  Russia. 


22  Liza. 

Maria  Dmitrievna  arranged  her  curls.  Marfa 
Timofeevna  looked  at  her  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  Isn't  that  a  grey  hair  I  see,  my  dear  ?  You  should 
scold  Pelagia.  Where  can  her  eyes  be  ? " 

"  That's  just  like  you,  aunt,"  muttered  Maria  Dmit- 
lievna,  in  a  tone  of  vexation,  and  thrumming  with  her 
fingers  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"  Sergius  Petrovich  Gedeonovsky  !  "  shrilly  an- 
nounced a  rosy-cheeked  little  Cossack,*  who  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  door. 

*  A  page  attired  in  a  sort  of  Cossack  dress. 


II. 

A  TALL  man  came  into  the  room,  wearing  a  good 
enough  coat,  rather  short  trousers,  thick  grey  gloves, 
and  two  cravats — a  black  one  outside,  a  white  one 
underneath.  Every  thing  belonging  to  him  was  sug- 
gestive of  propriety  and  decorum,  from  his  well-pro- 
portioned face,  with  locks  carefully  smoothed  down  over 
the  temples,  to  his  heelless  and  never-creaking  boots. 
He  bowed  first  to  the  mistress  of  the  house,  then  to 
Marfa  Timofeevna,  and  afterwards,  having  slowly  taken 
off  his  gloves,  he  approached  Maria  Dmitrievna  and 
respectfully  kissed  her  hand  twice.  After  that  he 
leisurely  subsided  into  an  easy-chair,  and  asked,  as  he 
smilingly  rubbed  together  the  tips  of  his  fingers — 

"  Is  Elizaveta  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Maria  Dmitrievna,  "  she  is  in  the 
garden." 

"  And  Elena  Mikhailovna  ? " 

"  Lenochka  is  in  the  garden  also.  Have  you  any 
news  ? " 

"  Rather ! "  replied  the  visitor,  slowly  screwing  up 
his  eyes,  and  protruding  his  lips.  "  Hm  !  here  is  a 
piece  of  news,  if  you  please,  and  a  very  startling  one, 
too.  Fedor  Ivanovich  Lavretsky  has  arrived." 


24  Liza. 

"  Fedia  !  "  exclaimed  Marfa  Timofeevna.  "  You're 
inventing,  are  you  not  ? " 

"  Not  at  all.    I  have  seen  him  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  That  doesn't  prove  any  thing." 

"  He's  grown  much  more  robust,"  continued  Ged- 
eonovsky,  looking  as  if  he  had  not  heard  Marfa  Timo- 
feevna's  remark ;  "  his  shoulders  have  broadened,  and 
his  cheeks  are  quite  rosy." 

"  Grown  more  robust,"  slowly  repeated  Maria  Dmit- 
rievna.  "  One  would  think  he  hadn't  met  with  much  to 
make  him  robust." 

"  That  is  true  indeed,"  said  Gedeonovsky.  "  Any 
one  else,  in  his  place,  would  have  scrupled  to  show 
himself  in  the  world." 

"  And  why,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  "  broke  in  Marfa 
Timofeevna.  "  What  nonsense  you  are  talking  !  A 
man  comes  back  to  his  home.  Where  else  would  you 
have  him  betake  himself  ?  And,  pray,  in  what  has  he 
been  to  blame  ? " 

"  A  husband  is  always  to  blame,  madam,  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  say  so,  when  his  wife  behaves  ill." 

" You  only  say  that,  batyushka*  because  you  have 
never  been  married." 

"  Gedeonovsky's  only  reply  was  a  forced  smile.  Foi 
a  short  time  he  remained  silent,  but  presently  he  said, 
"  May  I  be  allowed  to  be  so  inquisitive  as  to  ask  for 
whom  this  pretty  scarf  is  intended  ?  " 

*  Father. 


Marfa  Timofeevna  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"  For  whom  is  it  intended  ?  "  she  said.  "  For  a  man 
who  never  slanders,  who  does  not  intrigue,  and  who 
makes  up  no  falsehoods — if,  indeed,  such  a  man  is  to 
be  found  in  the  world.  I  know  Fedia  thoroughly  well ; 
the  only  thing  for  which  he  is  to  blame  is  that  he  spoil* 
his  wife.  To  be  sure  he  married  for  love ;  and  from 
such  love-matches  no  good  ever  comes,"  added  the  old 
lady,  casting  a  side  glance  at  Maria  Dmitrievna. 
Then,  standing  up,  she  added  :  "  But  now  you  can  whe 
your  teeth  on  whom  you  will ;  on  me,  if  you  like.  I'm 
off.  I  won't  hinder  you  any  longer."  And  with  these 
words  she  disappeared. 

"  She  is  always  like  that,"  said  Maria  Dmitrievna 
following  her  aunt  with  her  eyes — "always." 

"  What  else  can  be  expected  of  her  at  her  time  of 
life  ? "  replied  Gedeonovsky.  "  Just  see  now  !  '  Who 
does  not  intrigue  ? '  she  was  pleased  to  say.  But  who 
is  there  nowadays  who  doesn't  intrigue  ?  It  is  the  cus- 
tom of  the  present  age.  A  friend  of  mine — a  most 
respectable  man,  and  one,  I  may  as  well  observe,  of 
no  slight  rank — used  to  say,  'Nowadays,  it  seems,  if  a 
hen  wants  a  grain  of  corn  she  approaches  it  cunningly, 
watches  anxiously  for  an  opportunity  of  sidling  up  to 
it.'  But  when  I  look  at  you,  dear  lady,  I  recognize  in 
you  a  truly  angelic  nature.  May  I  be  allowed  to  kiss 
your  snow-white  hand  ?  " 

Maria  Dmitrievna  slightly  smiled,  and  held  out  her 
plump  hand  to  Gedeonovsky,  keeping  the  little  finger 


26  Liza. 

gracefully  separated  from  the  rest ;  and  then,  after  he 
had  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  she  drew  her  chair 
closer  to  his,  bent  a  little  towards  him,  and  asked,  in  a 
low  voice — 

"  So  you  have  seen  him  ?  And  is  he  really  well  and 
in  good  spirits  ?  " 

"In  excellent  spirits,"  replied  Gedeonovsky  in  a 
whisper. 

"You  haven't  heard  where  his  wife  is  now  ? " 

"A  short  time  ago  she  was  in  Paris;  but  she  is 
gone  away,  they  say,  and  is  now  in  Italy." 

"  Really  it  is  shocking — Fedia's  position.  I  can't 
think  how  he  manages  to  bear  it.  Every  one,  of  course, 
has  his  misfortunes ;  but  his  affairs,  one  may  say,  have 
become  known  all  over  Europe." 

Gedeonovsky  sighed. 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so !'  They  say  she  has  made  friends 
with  artists  and  pianists ;  or,  as  they  call  them  there, 
with  lions  and  other  wild  beasts.  She  has  completely 
lost  all  sense  of  shame — " 

"It's  very,  very  sad,"  said  Maria  Dmitrievna;  "es- 
pecially for  a  relation.  You  know,  don't  you,  Sergius 
Petrovich,  that  he  is  a  far-away  cousin  of  mine  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure  !  You  surely  don't  suppose 
I  could  be  ignorant  of  any  thing  that  concerns  your 
family." 

"  Will  he  come  to  see  us  ?     What  do  you  think  ? " 

"  One  would  suppose  so ;  but  afterwards,  I  am  told; 
he  will  go  and  live  on  his  estate  in  the  country." 


Liza.  27 

Maria  Dmitrievna  lifted  her  eyes  towards  heaven. 

"  Oh,  Sergius  Petrovich,  Sergius  Petrovich !  how 
often  I  think  how  necessary  it  is  for  us  women  to  be- 
have circumspectly  ! " 

"  There  are  women  and  women,  Maria  Dmitrievna. 
There  are,  unfortunately,  some  who  are— of  an  unsta- 
ble character ;  and  then  there  is  a  certain  time  of  life — 
and,  besides,  good  principles  have  not  been  instilled 
into  them  when  they  were  young." 

Here  Sergius  Petrovich  drew  from  his  pocket  a  blue 
handkerchief,  of  a  check  pattern,  and  began  to  un- 
fold it. 

"  Such  women,  in  fact,  do  exist." 

Here  Sergius  Petrovich  applied  a  corner  of  the 
handkerchief  to  each  of  his  eyes  in  turn. 

"  But,  generally  speaking,  .if  one  reflects — that  is  to 
say —  The  dust  in  the  streets  is  something  extraordi- 
nary," he  ended  by  saying. 

"  Maman,  maman"  exclaimed  a  pretty  little  girl  of 
eleven,  who  came  running  into  the  room,  "Vladimir 
Nikolaevich  is  coming  here  on  horseback." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  rose  from  her  chair.  Sergius 
Petrovich  also  got  up  and  bowed. 

"  My  respects  to  Elena  Mikhailoyna,"  he  said ;  and, 
discreetly  retiring  to  a  corner,  he  betook  himself  to 
blowing  his  long  straight  nose. 

"What  a  lovely  horse  he  has!"  continued  the  little 
gin.  "He  was  at  the  garden  gate  just  now,  and  he 


28  Liza. 

told  me  and  Liza  that  he  would  come  up  to  the  front 
door." 

The  sound  of  hoofs  was  heard,  and  a  well  appointed 
cavalier,  mounted  on  a  handsome  bay  horse,  rode  up 
to  the  house,  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  open  window. 


III. 

"  GOOD-EVENING,  Maria  Dmitrievna !  "  exclaimed  the 
rider's  clear  and  pleasant  voice.  "  How  do  you  like 
my  new  purchase  ? " 

Maria  Dmitrievna  went  to  the  window. 

"  Good-evening,  Woldemar  !  Ah,  what  a  splendid 
horse !  From  whom  did  you  buy  it  ? " 

"  From  our  remount-officer.  He  made  me  pay  dear 
for  it,  the  rascal." 

"  What  is  it's  name  ?  " 

"  Orlando.  But  that's  a  stupid  name.  I  want  to 
change  it.  Eh  bicn,  eh  bien,  mon  gar$on.  What  a  rest- 
less creature  it  is !  " 

The  horse  neighed,  pawed  the  air,  and  tossed  the 
foam  from  its  nostrils. 

"  Come  and  stroke  it,  Lenochka;  don't  be  afraid." 

Lcnochka  stretched  out  her  hand  from  the  window, 
but  Orlando  suddenly  reared  and  shied.  But  its  rider, 
who  took  its  proceedings  very  quietly,  gripped  the  sad- 
dle firmly  with  his  knees,  laid  his  whip  across  the 
horse's  neck,  and  forced  it,  in  spite  of  its  resistance,  to 
return  to  the  window,  " Prenez  garde,  prenez  garde" 
Maria  Dmitrievna  kept  calling  out. 

"Now  then,  stroke  hin>,  Lenochka,"  repeated  the 


30  Liza. 

horseman;  "I  don't  mean  to  let  him  have  his  own 
way." 

Lenochka  stretched  out  her  hand  a  second  time, 
and  timidly  touched  the  quivering  nostrils  of  Orlando, 
who  champed  his  bit,  and  kept  incessantly  fidgeting. 

"  Bravo !  "  exclaimed  Maria  Dmitrievna ;  "  -\>ut  now 
get  off,  and  come  in." 

The  rider  wheeled  his  horse  sharply  round,  drove 
the  spurs  into  its  sides,  rode  down  the  street  at  a  hand 
gallop,  and  turned  into  the  court-yard.  In  another 
minute  he  had  crossed  the  hall  and  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room, flourishing  his  whip  in  the  air. 

At  the  same  moment  there  appeared  on  the  threshold 
of  another  doorway  a  tall,  well-made,  dark-haired  girl 
of  nineteen — Maria  Dmitrievna's  elder  daughter,  Liza. 


rv. 

THE  young  man  whom  we  have  just  introduced  to 
our  readers  was  called  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  Panshine. 
He  occupied  a  post  at  St.  Petersburg — one  devoted  to 
business  of  a  special  character — in  the  Ministry  of  the 
Interior.  He  had  come  to  O.  about  certain  affairs  of  a 
temporary  nature,  and  was  placed  there  at  the  disposal 
of  the  governor,  General  Zonnenberg,  to  whom  he  was 
distantly  related. 

Panshine's  father,  a  retired  cavalry  officer,*  who 
used  to  be  well  known  among  card-players,  was  a  man 
of  a  worn  face,  with  weak  eyes,  and  a  nervous  contrac- 
tion about  the  lips.  Throughout  his  life  he  always  re- 
volved in  a  distinguished  circle,  frequenting  the  Eng- 
lish Clubs  f  of  both  capitals,  and  being  generally  con- 
sidered a  man  of  ability  and  a  pleasant  companion, 
though  not  a  person  to  be  confidently  depended  upon. 
In  spite  of  all  his  ability,  he  was  almost  always  just  on 
the  verge  of  ruin,  and  he  ultimately  left  but  a  small 
and  embarrassed  property  to  his  only  son.  About  that 

*  A  Shtals-Rotmistr,  the  second  captain  in  a  cavalry  regiment, 
f  Fashionable  clubs  having  nothing  English  about  them  bu« 
their  name. 


32  Ltza. 

son's  education,  however,  he  had,  afier  his  own  fashion, 
taken  great  pains. 

The  young  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  spoke  excellent 
French,  good  English,  and  bad  German.  That  is  just 
as  it  should  be.  Properly  brought-up  people  should  of 
course  be  ashamed  to  speak  German  really  well ;  but 
to  throw  out  a  German  word  now  and  then,  and  gener- 
ally on  facetious  topics — that  is  allowable ;  "  c*cst  me  me 
tres  chic"  as  the  Petersburg  Parisians  say.  Moreover, 
by  the  time  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  wa-s  fifteen,  he  al- 
ready knew  how  to  enter  any  drawing-room  whatsoever 
without  becoming  nervous,  how  to  move  about  it  in  an 
agreeable  manner,  and  how  to  take  his  leave  exactly  at 
the  right  moment. 

The  elder  Panshine  made  a  number  of  useful  con- 
nections for  his  son  ;  while  shuffling  the  cards  between 
two  rubbers,  or  after  a  lucky  "Great  Schlemm,"*  he 
never  lost  the  opportunity  of  saying  a  word  about  his 
young  "  Volodka "  to  some  important  personage,  a 
lover  of  games  of  skill.  On  his  part,  Vladimir  Niko- 
laevich, during  the  period  of  his  stay  at  the  university, 
which  he  left  with  the  rank  of  "effective  student,"! 
made  acquaintance  with  several  young  people  of  dis 
tinction,  and  gained  access  into  the  best  houses.  He 
was  cordially  received  everywhere,  for  he  was  very 
good  looking,  easy  in  manner,  amusing,  always  in  good 

*  "  A  bumper." 

f  A  degree  a  little  inferior  to  that  of  Bachelor  of  Arts. 


Liza.  -53 

health,  and  ready  for  every  thing.  Where  he  was 
obliged,  he  was  respectful;  where  he  could,  he  was 
overbearing.  Altogether,  an  excellent  companion,  un 
charmant  garfon.  The  Promised  Land  lay  before  him. 
Panshine  soon  fathomed  the  secret  of  worldly  wisdom, 
and  succeeded  in  inspiring  himself  with  a  genuine  re- 
spect for  its  laws.  He  knew  how  to  invest  trifles  with  a 
half-ironical  importance,  and  to  behave  with  the  air  of 
one  who  treats  all  serious  matters  as  trifles.  He  danced 
admirably;  he  dressed  like  an  Englishman.  In  a  short 
time  he  had  gained  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the 
pleasantest  and  most  adroit  young  men  in  St.  Peters- 
burg. 

Panshine  really  was  very  adroit — not  less  so  than  his 
father  had  been.  And  besides  this,  he  was  endowed 
with  no  small  talent ;  nothing  was  too  difficult  for  him. 
He  sang  pleasantly,  drew  confidently,  could  write  poetry, 
and  acted  remarkably  well. 

He  was  now  only  in  his  twenty-eighth  year,  but  he 
was  already  a  Chamberlain,  and  he  had  arrived  at  a 
highly  respectable  rank  in  the  service.  He  had  thor- 
ough confidence  in  himself,  in  his  intellect,  and  in  his 
sagacity.  He  went  onwards  under  full  sail,  boldly  and 
cheerfully;  the  stream  of  his  life  flowed  smoothly 
along.  He  was  accustomed  to  please  every  one,  old 
and  young  alike ;  and  he  imagined  that  he  thoroughly 
understood  his  fellow-creatures,  especially  women — • 
that  he  was  intimately  acquainted  with  all  their  ordi- 
nary weaknesses. 


As  one  who  was  no  stranger  to  Art,  he  felt  within 
him  a  certain  enthusiasm,  a  glow,  a  rapture,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  claimed  for  himself  various  ex- 
emptions from  ordinary  rules.  He  led  a  somewhat  ir- 
regular life,  he  made  acquaintance  Avith  people  who 
were  not  received  into  society,  and  in  general  he  be- 
haved in  an  unconventional  and  unceremonious  man- 
ner. But  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  was  cold  and  astute  ; 
and  even  in  the  midst  of  his  most  extravagant  rioting, 
his  keen  hazel  eye  watched  and  took  note  of  every 
thing.  It  was  impossible  for  this  daring  and  unconven- 
tional youth  ever  quite  to  forget  himself,  or  to  be  thor- 
oughly carried  away.  It  should  be  mentioned  to  his 
credit,  by  the  way,  that  he  never  boasted  of  his  victo- 
ries. To  Maria  Dmitrievna's  house  he  had  obtained 
access  as  soon  as  he  arrived  in  O.,  and  he  soon  made 
himself  thoroughly  at  home  in  it.  As  to  Maria  Dmit- 
rievna  herself,  she  thought  there  was  nobody  in  the 
world  to  be  compared  with  him. 

,  Panshine  bowed  in  an  engaging  manner  to  all  the 
occupants  of  the  room,  shook  hands  with  Maria  Dmit- 
rievna  and  Elizaveta  Mikhailovna,  lightly  tapped  Gecl- 
eonovsky  on  the  shoulder,  and,  turning  on  his  heels, 
took  Lenochka's  head  between  his  hands  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead. 

"  Are  not  you  afraid  to  ride  such  a  vicious  horse  ?  " 
asked  Maria  Dmitrievna. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  it  is  perfectly  quiet.  No,  but 
(  will  tell  you  what  I  really  am  afraid  of.  I  am  afraid 


35 

of  playing  at  preference  with  Sergius  Petrovich.  Yes- 
terday, at  the  Bielenitsines',  he  won  all  the  money  I  had 
with  me." 

Gecleonovsky  laughed  a  thin  and  cringing  laugh ; 
he  wanted  to  gain  the  good  graces  of  the  brilliant  young 
official  from  St.  Petersburg,  the  governor's  favorite. 
In  his  conversations  with  Maria  Dmitrievna,  he  frequent- 
ly spoke  of  Panshine's  remarkable  faculties.  "  Why,  real- 
ly now,  how  can  one  help  praising  him  ? "  he  used  to 
reason.  "  The  young  man  is  a  success  in  the  highest 
circles  of  society,  and  at  the  same  time  he  does  his 
work  in  the  most  perfect  manner,  and  he  isn't  the  least 
bit  proud."  And  indeed,  even  at  St.  P  etersburg,  Pan- 
shine  was  looked  upon  as  an  efficient  public  servant ; 
the  work  "  burnt  under  his  hands  ; "  he  spoke  of  it  jest- 
ingly, as  a  man  of  the  world  should,  who  does  not  at- 
tach any  special  importance  to  his  employment ;  but  he 
was  a  "  doer."  Heads  of  departments  like  such  sub- 
ordinates ;  he  himself  never  doubted  that  in  time,  sup- 
posing he  really  wished  it,  he  would  be  a  Minister. 

"  You  are  so  good  as  to  say  that  I  won  your  money," 
said  Gedeonovsky  ;  "  but  who  won  fifteen  roubles  from 
me  last  week  ?  And  besides — " 

"  Ah,  rogue,  rogue !  "  interrupted  Panshine,  in  a 
pleasant  tone,  but  with  an  air  of  indifference  bordering 
on  contempt,  and  then,  without  paying  him  any  further 
attention,  he  accosted  Liza. 

"  I  cannot  get  the  overture  to  Oberon  here,"  he  be- 
gan. "  Madame  Bielenitsine  boasted  that  she  had  a  com- 


36  Liza. 

plete  collection  of  classical  music ;  but  in  reality  she 
has  nothing  but  polkas  and  waltzes.  However,  I  ha\  i 
already  written  to  Moscow,  and  you  shall  have  the  over- 
ture in  a  week." 

"  By  the  way,"  he  continued,  "  I  wrote  a  new  ro- 
mance yesterday ;  the  words  are  mine  as  well  as  the 
music.  Would  you  like  me  to  sing  it  to  you  ?  Ma- 
dame Bielenitsine  thought  it  very  pretty,  but  her  judg- 
ment is  not  worth  much.  I  want  to  know  your  opinion 
of  it.  But,  after  all,  I  think  I  had  better  sing  it  by- 
and-by." 

"  Why  by-and-by  ?  "  exclaimed  Maria  Dmitrievna, 
"  why  not  now  ?  " 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  answered  Panshine,  with  a 
sweet  and  serene  smile,  which  came  and  went  quickly ; 
and  then,  having  pushed  a  chair  up  to  the  piano,  he  sat 
down,  struck  a  few  chords,  and  began  to  sing  the  fol- 
lowing romance,  pronouncing  the  words  very  distinctly  • 

Amid  pale  clouds,  above  the  earth, 

The  moon  rides  high, 
And  o'er  the  sea  a  magic  light 

Pours  from  the  sky. 

My  Spirit's  waves,  as  towards  the  moon, 

Towards  thee,  love,  flow  : 
Its  waters  stirred  by  thee  alone 

In  weal  or  woe. 

My  heart  replete  with  love  that  grieves 
i  But  yields  no  cry, 

I  suffer — cold  as  yonder  moon 
Thou  passesl  by. 


Liza.  37 

Panshine  sang  the  second  stanza  with  more  than 
usual  expression  and  feeling;  in  the  stormy  accompa- 
niment might  be  heard  the  rolling  of  the  waves.  Af- 
ter the  words,  '••'  I  suffer !  "  he  breathed  a  light  sigh,  and 
with  downcast  eyes  let  his  voice  die  gradually  away. 
When  he  had  finished,  Liza  praised  the  air,  Maria 
Dmitrievna  said,  "  Charming  !  "  and  Gedeonovsky  ex- 
claimed, "  Enchanting ! — the  words  and  the  music  are 
equally  enchanting!"  Lenochka  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  singer  with  childish  reverence.  In  a  word,  the 
composition  of  the  young  dilettante  delighted  all  who 
were  in  the  room.  But  outside  the  drawing-room  door, 
in  the  vestibule,  there  stood,  looking  on  the  floor,  an 
old  man  who  had  just  come  into  the  house,  to  whom, 
judging  from  the  expression  of  his  face  and  the  move- 
ments of  his  shoulders,  Panshine's  romance,  though 
really  pretty,  did  not  afford  much  pleasure.  After 
waiting  a  little,  and  having  dusted  his  boots  with  a 
coarse  handkerchief,  he  suddenly  squeezed  up  his  eyes, 
morosely  compressed  his  lips,  gave  his  already  curved 
back  an  extra  bend,  and  slowly  entered  the  drawing- 
room. 

"  Ah !  Christopher  Fedorovich,  how  do  you  do  ? ' 
Panshine  was  the  first  to  exclaim,  as  he  jumped  up 
quickly  from  his  chair.  "  I  didn't  suspect  you  were 
there.  I  wouldn't  for  any  thing  have  ventured  to  sing 
my  romance  before  you.  I  know  you  are  no  admirei 
of  the  light  style  in  music." 

'•  I  didn't  hear  it,"  said  the  new-comer,  in  imperfect 


38  Liza. 

Russian.     Then,  having  bowed  to  all  the  party,  he  stood 
still  in  an  awkward  attitude  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
"I  suppose,  Monsieur  Lemm,"  said  Maria  Dmit- 
rievna,  "  you  have  come  to  give  Liza  a  music  lesson." 
"  No ;  not  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna,  but  Elena  Mik 
lailovna." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  very  good.  Lenochka,  go  up-stairs 
jvith  Monsieur  Lemm." 

The  old  man  was  about  to  follow  the  little  girl,  when 
Panshine  stopped  him. 

"Don't  go  away  when  the  lesson  is  over,  Christo- 
pher Fedorovich,"  he  said.  "  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna 
and  I  are  going  to  play  a  duet — one  of  Beethoven's 
sonatas." 

The  old  man  muttered  something  to  himself,  but 
Panshine  continued  in  German,  pronouncing  the  words 
very  badly — 

"  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  has  shovm  me  the  sacred 
cantata  which  you  have  dedicated  to  her — a  very  beau- 
tiful piece  !  I  beg  you  will  not  suppose  I  am  unable  to 
appreciate  serious  music.  Quite  the  reverse.  It  is 
sometimes  tedious;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  ex- 
tremely edifying." 

The  old  man  blushed  to  the  ears,  cast  a  side  glance 
at  Liza,  and  went  hastily  out  of  the  room. 

Maria  Dmitrievna  asked  Panshine  to  repeat  his  ro- 
mance ;  but  he  declared  that  he  did  not  like  to  offend 
the  ears  of  the  scientific  German,  and  proposed  to  Liza 
to  begin  Beethoven's  sonata.  On  this,  Maria  Dmu- 


39 

rievna  sighed,  and,  on  her  part,  proposed  a  stroll  in  the 
garden  to  Gedeonovsky. 

"  I  want  to  have  a  little  more  chat  with  you,"  she 
said,  "  about  our  poor  Fedia,  and  to  ask  for  your  ad- 
vice." 

Gedeonovsky  smiled  and  bowed,  took  up  with  two 
fingers  his  hat,  on  the  brim  of  which  his  gloves  were 
neatly  laid  out,  and  retired  with  Maria  Dmitrievna. 

Panshine  and  Eliza  remained  in  the  room.  She 
fetched  the  sonata,  and  spread  it  out.  Both  sat  down 
to  the  piano  in  silence.  From  up-stairs  there  came  the 
feeble  sound  of  scales,  played  by  Lenochka's  uncertain 
fingers. 


Note  to  p.  36. 

It  is  possible  that  M.  Panshine  may  have  been  inspired  by 
Heine's  verses  : — 

Wie  cles  Mondes  Abbild  zittert 

In  den  wilden  Meereswogen, 
Und  er  selber  still  und  sicher 

Wandelt  an  clem  Himmelsbogen. 

Also  wandelst  clu,  Geliebte, 

Still  und  sicher,  und  es  zittert 
Nur  dein  Abbild  mir  im  Herzen, 

Weil  mein  eignes  Herz  erschiittert. 


V. 

CHRISTOPH  THEODOR  GOTTLIEB  LKMM  was  born  in 
1786,  in  the  kingdom  of  Saxony,  in  the  town  of  Chem- 
nitz. His  parents,  who  were  very  poor,  were  both  of 
them  musicians,  his  father  playing  the  hautboy,  his 
mother  the  harp.  He  himself,  by  the  time  he  was  five 
years  old,  was  already  practicing  on  three  different  in- 
struments. At  the  age  of  eight,  he  was  left  an  orphan, 
and  at  ten,  he  began  to  earn  a  living  by  his  art.  For  a 
long  time  he  led  a  wandering  life,  playing  in  all  sorts 
of  places — in  taverns,  at  fairs,  at  peasants'  marriages, 
and  at  balls.  At  last  he  gained  access  to  an  orchestra, 
and  there,  steadily  rising  higher  and  higher,  he  attained 
to  the  position  of  conductor.  As  a  performer  he  had 
no  great  merit,  but  he  understood  music  thoroughly. 
In  his  twenty-eighth  year,  he  migrated  to  Russia.  He 
was  invited  there  by  a  great  seigneur,  who,  although  he 
could  not  abide  music  himself,  maintained  an  orchestra 
from  a  love  of  display.  In  his  house  Lemm  spent  seven 
years  as  a  musical  director,  and  then  left  him  with 
empty  hands.  The  seigneur,  who  had  squandered  all 
his  means,  first  offered  Lemm  a  bill  of  exchange  for  the 
amount  due  to  him  ;  then  refused  to  give  him  even  that ; 
and  ultimately  never  paid  him  a  single  farthing.  Lemm 


Liza.  4 1 

was  advised  to  leave  the  country,  but  he  did  not  like  to 
go  home  penniless  from  Russia — from  the  great  Russia, 
that  golden  land  of  artists.  So  he  determined  to  re- 
main and  seek  his  fortune  there. 

During  the  course  of  ten  years,  the  poor  German 
Continued  to  seek  his  fortune.  He  found  various  em- 
ployers, he  lived  in  Moscow,  and  in  several  county 
towns,  he  patiently  suffered  much,  he  made  acquaint- 
ance with  poverty,  he  struggled  hard.*  All  this  time, 
amidst  all  the  troubles  to  which  he  was  exposed,  the 
idea  of  ultimately  returning  home  never  quitted  him. 
It  was  the  only  thing  that  supported  him.  But  fate  did 
not  choose  to  bless  him  with  this  supreme  and  final 
piece  of  good  fortune. 

At  fifty  years  of  age,  in  bad  health  and  prematurely 
decrepid,  he  happened  to  come  to  the  town  of  O.,  and 
there  he  took  up  his  permanent  abode,  managing  some- 
how to  obtain  a  poor  livelihood  by  giving  lessons.  He 
had  by  this  time  entirely  lost  all  hope  of  quitting  the 
hated  soil  of  Russia. 

Lemm's  outward  appearance  was  not  in  his  favor. 
He  was  short  and  high-shouldered,  his  shoulder-blades 
stuck  out  awry,  his  feet  were  large  and  flat,  and  his  red 
hands,  marked  by  swollen  veins,  had  hard,  stiff  fingers, 
tipped  with  nails  of  a  pale  blue  color.  His  face  was 
covered  with  wrinkles,  his  cheeks  were  hollow,  and  he 

*  Literally,  "  like  a  fish  out  of  ice : "  as  a  fish,  taken  out  of  2 
river  which  has  been  frozen  over,  struggles  on  the  ice. 


4 2  Liza. 

had  pursed-up  lips  which  he  was  always  moving  with  a 
kind  of  chewing  action — one  which,  joined  with  his 
habitual  silence,  gave  him  an  almost  malignant  expres- 
sion. His  grey  hair  hung  in  tufts  over  a  low  forehead. 
His  very  small  and  immobile  eyes  glowed  dully,  like 
coals  in  which  the  flame  has  just  been  extinguished  by 
water.  He  walked  heavily,  jerking  his  clumsy  frame  at 
every  step.  Some  of  his  movements  called  to  mind 
the  awkward  shuffling  of  an  owl  in  a  cage,  when  it  feels 
that  it  is  being  stared  at,  but  can  scarcely  see  anything 
itself  out  of  its  large  yellow  eyes,  blinking  between 
sleep  and  fear.  An  ancient  and  inexorable  misery  had 
fixed  its  ineffaceable  stamp  on  the  poor  musician,  and 
had  wrenched  and  distorted  his  figure — one  which,  even 
without  that,  would  have  had  but  little  to  recommend 
it ;  but  in  spite  of  all  that,  something  good  and  honest, 
something  out  of  the  common  run,  revealed  itself  in 
that  half-ruined  being,  to  any  one  who  was  able  to  get 
over  his  first  impressions. 

A  devotee!  admirer  of  Bach  and  Handel,  thoroughly 
well  up  to  his  work,  gifted  with  a  lively  imagination, 
and  that  audacity  of  idea  which  belongs  only  to  the 
Teutonic  race,  Lemm  might  in  time— who  can  tell  ? — • 
have  been  reckoned  among  the  great  composers  of  his 
country,  if  only  his  life  had  been  of  a  different  nature. 
But  he  was  not  born  under  a  lucky  star.  He  had  writ- 
ten much  in  his  time,  and  yet  he  had  never  been  fortu- 
nate enough  to  see  any  of  his  compositions  published. 
He  did  not  know  how  to  set  to  work,  how  to  cringe  at 


43 

the  right  moment,  how  to  proffer  a  request  at  the  fitting 
time.  Once,  it  is  true,  a  very  long  time  ago,  one  of  his 
friends  and  admirers,  also  a  German,  and  also  poor, 
published  at  his  own  expense  two  of  Lemm's  sonatas. 
But  they  remained  untouched  on  the  shelves  of  the 
music  shops ;  silently  they  disappeared  and  left  no 
trace  behind,  just  as  if  they  had  been  dropped  into  a 
river  by  night. 

At  last  Lemm  bade  farewell  to  every  thing  Old  age 
gained  upon  him,  and  he  hardened,  he  grew  stiff  in 
mind,  just  as  his  fingers  had  stiffened.  He  had  never 
married,  and  now  he  lived  alone  in  O.,  in  a  little  house 
not  far  from  that  of  the  Kalitines,  looked  after  by  an 
old  woman-servant  whom  he  had  taken  out  of  an  alms- 
house.  He  walked  a  great  deal,  and  he  read  the  Bible, 
also  a  collection  of  Protestant  hymns,  and  Shakspeare 
in  Schlegel's  translation.  For  a  long  time  he  had  com- 
posed nothing;  but  apparently. Liza,  his  best  pupil,  had 
been  able  to  arouse  him.  It  was  for  her  that  he  had 
written  the  cantata  to  which  Panshine  alluded.  The 
words  of  this  cantata  were  borrowed  by  him  from  his 
collection  of  hymns,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  verses 
which  he  composed  himself.  It  was  written  for  two 
choruses  :  one  of  the  happy,  one  of  the  unhappy.  At 
the  end  the  two  united  and  sang  together,  "  Merciful 
Lord,  have  pity  upon  us,  poor  sinners,  and  keep  us  from 
all  evil  thoughts  and  worldly  desires."  On  the  title- 
page,  very  carefully  and  even  artistically  written ,  were 
the  words,  "  Only  the  Righteous  are  in  the  Right.  A 


44  Liza. 

Sacred  Cantata.  Composed,  and  dedicated  to  Eliza 
veta  Kalitine,  his  dear  pupil,  by  her  teacher,  C.  T.  G. 
Lemm."  The  words  "  Only  the  Righteous  are  in  the 
Right  "  and  "  To  Elizaveta  Kalitine  "  were  surrounded 
by  a  circle  of  rays.  Underneath  was  written,  "  For 
you  only.  Fur  Sie  allein."  This  was  why  Lemm  grew 
red  and  looked  askance  at  Liza  ;  he  felt  greatly  hurt 
when  Panshine  began  to  talk  to  him  about  his  cantata. 


IV. 

PAKSHINE  struck  the  first  chords  of  the  sonata,  in 
which  he  played  the  bass,  loudly  and  with  decision,  but 
Liza  did  not  begin  her  part.  He  stopped  and  .looked 
at  her — Liza's  eyes,  which  were  looking  straight  at  him, 
expressed  dissatisfaction  ;  her  lips  did  not  smile,  all  her 
countenance  was  severe,  almost  sad. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why  have  you  not  kept  your  word  ? "  she  said. 
"  I  showed  you  Christopher  Fedorovich's  cantata 
only  on  condition  that  you  would  not  speak  to  him 
about  it." 

"  I  was  wrong,  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna — I  spoke  with- 
out thinking." 

"  You  have  wounded  him  and  me  too.  In  future  he 
will  distrust  me  as  well  as  others." 

"What  could  I  do,  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna?  From 
my  earliest  youth  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  a  Ger- 
man without  feeling  tempted  to  tease  him." 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  ?  This 
German  is  a  poor,  lonely,  broken  man  ;  and  you  feel  no 
pity  for  him  !  you  feel  tempted  to  tease  him  !  " 

Panshine  seemed  a  little  disconcerted. 

"You  are  right,  Lizaveta   Mikhailovna,"  he  said 


46  Liza. 

"  The  fault  is  entirely  due  to  my  perpetual  thoughtless 
ness.  No,  do  not  contradict  me.  I  know  myself  well. 
My  thoughtlessness  has  done  me  no  slight  harm.  T 
makes  people  suppose  that  I  am  an  egotist." 

Panshine  made  a  brief  pause.  From  wha.teve) 
point  he  started  a  conversation,  he  generally  ended  by 
speaking  about  himself,  and  then  his  words  seemed 
almost  to  .escape  from  him  involuntarily,  so  softly  and 
pleasantly  did  he  speak,  and  with  such  an  air  of  sin- 
cerity. 

"  It  is  so,  even  in  your  house,"  he  continued. 
"  Your  mamma,  it  is  true,  is  most  kind  to  me.  She  is 
so  good.  You — but  no,  I  don't  know  what  you  think  of 
me.  But  decidedly  your  aunt  cannot  abide  me.  I  have 
vexed  her  by  some  thoughtless,  stupid  speech.  It  is 
true  that  she  does  not  like  me,  is  it  not  ? " 

"Yes,"  replied  Liza,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 
"  You  do  not  please  her." 

Panshine  let  his  ringers  run  rapidly  over  the  keys ; 
a  scarcely  perceptible  smile  glided  over  his  lips. 

"  Well,  but  you,"  he  continued,  "  do  you  also  think 
me  an  egotist  ? " 

"  I  know  so  little  about  you,"  replied  Liza ;  "  but  I 
should  not  call  you  an  egotist.  On  the  contrary,  I  ought 
to  feel  grateful  to  you — " 

"  I  know,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,"  inter- 
rupted Panshine,  again  running  his  fingers  over  the 
keys,  "  for  the  music,  for  the  books,  which  I  bring  you, 
for  the  bad  drawings  with  which  I  ornament  your  album, 


Ltza.  47 

and  so  on,  and  so  on.  I  may  do  all  that,  and  yet  be  an 
egotist.  I  venture  to  think  that  I  do  not  bore  you,  and 
that  you  do  not  think  me  a  bad  man ;  but  yet  you  sup- 
pose that  I — how  shall  I  say  it  ? — for  the  sake  of  an 
epigram  would  not  spare  my  friend,  my  father  him 
self." 

"  You  are  absent  and  forgetful,  like  all  men  of  the 
world,"  said  Liza,  "  that  is  all." 

Panshine  slightly  frowned. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  ;  "  don't  let's  talk  any  more  about 
me ;  let  us  begin  our  sonata.  Only  there  is  one  thing 
I  will  ask  of  you,"  he  added,  as  he  smoothed  the  sheets 
which  lay  on  the  music-desk  with  his  hand ;  "  think  of 
me  what  you  will,  call  me  egotist  even,  I  don't  object 
to  that;  but  don't  call  me  a  man  of  the  world,  that 
name  is  insufferable.  AncKio  sono  pittore.  I  too  am 
an  artist,  though  but  a  poor  one,  and  that — namely,  that 
I  am  a  poor  artist — I  am  going  to  prove  to  you  on  the 
spot.  Let  us  begin." 

"  Very  good,  let  us  begin,"  said  Liza. 

The  first  adagio  went  orf  with  tolerable  success,  al- 
though Panshine  made  several  mistakes.  What  he  had 
written  himself,  and  what  he  had  learnt  by  heart,  he 
played  very  well,  but  he  could  not  play  at  sight  cor- 
rectly. Accordingly  the  second  part  of  the  sonata — 
a  tolerably  quick  allegro — would  not  do  at  all.  At  the 
twentieth  bar  Panshine,  who  was  a  couple  of  bars  be- 
hind, gave  in,  and  pushed  back  his  chair  with  a  laugh. 

"  No  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  cannot  play  to-day.     Tt  is 


4&  Liza. 

fortunate  that  Lemm  cannot  hear  us ,  he  would  have 
had  a  fit." 

Liza  stood  up,  shut  the  piano,  and  then  turned  to 
Panshine. 

"  What  shall  we  do  then  ? "  she  asked. 

"  That  question  is  so  like  you  !  You  can  never  sit 
with  folded  hands  for  a  moment.  Well  then,  if  you 
feel  inclined,  let's  draw  a  little  before  it  becomes  quite 
dark.  Perhaps  another  Muse — the  Muse  of  painting — • 
what's  her  name  ?  I've  forgotten — will  be  more  pro 
pitious  to  me.  Where  is  your  album  ?  I  remember 
the  landscape  I  was  drawing  in  it  was  not  finished." 

Liza  went  into  another  room  for  the  album,  and 
Panshine,  finding  himself  alone,  took  a  cambric  hand- 
kerchief out  of  his  pocket,  rubbed  his  nails  and  looked 
sideways  at  his  hands.  They  were  very  white  and  well 
shaped ;  on  the  second  finger  of  the  left  hand  he  wore 
a  spiral  gold  ring. 

Liza  returned;  Panshine  seated  himself  by  the 
window  and  opened  the  album. 

"Ah!  "he  exclaimed,  "'I  see  you  have  begun  to 
copy  my  landscape — and  capitally — very  good  indeed — 
only — just  give  me  the  pencil — the  shadows  are  not 
laid  in  black  enough.  Look  here." 

And  Panshine  added  some  long  strokes  with  a  vig- 
orous touch.  He  always  drew  the  same  landscape — 
large  dishevelled  trees  in  the  foreground,  in  the  middle 
distance  a  plain,  and  on  the  horizon  an  indented  chain 
of  hills.  Liza  looked  over  \<*.  shoulder  at  his  work. 


Liza.  49 

"  In  drawing,  as  also  in  life  in  general,"  said  Pan- 
shine,  turning  his  head  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the 
left,  (( lightness  and  daring — those  are  the  first  requis- 
ites." 

At  this  moment  Lemm  entered  the  room,  and  after 
bowing  gravely,  was  about  to  retire  ;  but  Panshine  flung 
the  album  and  pencil  aside,  and  prevented  him  from 
leaving  the  room. 

"Where  are  you  going,  dear  Christoph  Fedorovich? 
Won't  you  stay  and  take  tea?" 

"  I  am  going  home,"  said  Lemm,  in  a  surly  voice  ; 
"my  head  aches." 

"  What  nonsense  !  do  remain.  We  will  have  a  talk 
about  Shakspeare." 

"  My  head  aches,"  repeated  the  old  man. 

"  We  tried  to  play  Beethoven's  sonata  without  you," 
continued  Panshine,  caressingly  throwing  his  arm  over 
the  old  man's  shoulder  and  smiling  sweetly ;  "  but  we 
didn't  succeed  in  bringing  it  to  a  harmonious  conclu- 
sion. Just  imagine,  I  couldn't  play  two  consecutive 
notes  right." 

"  You  had  better  have  played  your  romance  over 
again,"  replied  Lemm  ;  then,  escaping  from  Panshine's 
hold" he  went  out  of  the  room. 

Liza  ran  after  him,  and  caught  him  on  the  steps. 

"  Christopher  Fedorovich,  I  want  to  speak  to  you," 
she  said  in  German,  as  led  him  across  the  short  green 
grass  to  the  gate.  "I  have  done  you  a  wrong — forgive 
me." 

3 


5°  Liza. 

Lemm  made  no  reply. 

"  I  showed  your  cantata  to  Vladimir  Nikolaevich ;  1 
was  sure  he  would  appreciate  it,  and,  indeed,  he  was 
exceedingly  pleased  with  it." 

Lemm  stopped  still. 

"  It's  no  matter,"  he  said  in  Russian,  and  then  added 
in  his  native  tongue, — "But  he  is  utterly  incapable  of 
understanding  it.  How  is  it  you  don't  see  that  ?  He 
is  a  dilettante — that  is  all." 

"You  are  unjust  towards  him,"  replied  Liza.  "  He 
understands  every  thing,  and  can  do  almost  every  thing 
himself." 

"  Yes,  every  thing  second-rate — poor  goods,  scamped 
work.  But  that  pleases,  and  he  pleases,  and  he  is  well 
content  with  that.  Well,  then,  bravo ! — But  I  am  not 
angry.  I  and  that  cantata,  we  are  both  old  fools !  I 
feel  a  little  ashamed,  but  it's  no  matter." 

"  Forgive  me,  Christopher  Fedorovich !  "  urged  Liza 
anew. 

"  It's  no  matter,  no  matter,"  he  repeated  a  second 
time  in  Russian.  You  are  a  good  girl. — Here  is  some 
one  coming  to  pay  you  a  visit.  Good-bye.  You  are  a 
very  good  girl." 

And  Lemm  made  his  way  with  hasty  steps  tt>  the 
gate,  through  which  there  was  passing  a  gentleman  who 
was  a  stranger  to  him,  dressed  in  a  grey  paletot  and  a 
broad  straw  hat.  Politely  saluting  him  (he  bowed  to 
every  new  face  in  O.,  and  always  turned  away  his  head 
from  his  acquaintances  in  the  street — such  was  the  rule 


Liza.  5 1 

r.e   had   adopted),  Lemm  went  past  him,  and  disap- 
peared behind  the  wall. 

The  stranger  gazed  at  him  as  he  retired  with  sur- 
prise, then  looked  at  Liza,  and  then  went  straight  up  to 
her. 


VII. 

"  You  won't  remember  me,"  he  said,  as  he  took  ofT 
his  hat,  "  but  I  recognized  you,  though  it  is  seven  years 
since  I  saw  you  last.  You  were  a  child  then.  I  am 
Lavretsky.  Is  your  mamma  at  home  ?  Can  I  see  her  ?  '•' 

"  Mamma  will  be  so  glad,"  replied  Liza.  "  She  has 
heard  of  your  arrival." 

"  Your  name  is  Elizaveta,  isn't  it  ? "  asked  Lavretsky, 
as  he  mounted  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  house. 

"Yes." 

"  I  remember  you  perfectly.  Yours  was  even  in 
those  days  one  of  the  faces  which  one  does  not  forget. 
I  used  to  bring  you  sweetmeats  then." 

Liza  blushed  a  little,  and  thought  to  herself,  "  What 
an  odd  man  !"  Lavretsky  stopped  for  a  minute  in  the 
hall. 

Liza  entered  the  drawing-room,  in  which  Panshine's 
voice  and  laugh  were  making  themselves  heard.  He 
was  communicating  some  piece  of  town  gossip  to  Ma 
ria  Dmitrievna  and  Gedeonovsky,  both  of  whom  had 
by  this  time  returned  from  the  garden,  and  he  was 
laughly  loudly  at  his  own  story.  At  the  name  of  La- 
vretsky,  Maria  Dmitrievna  became  nervous  and  turned 
hut  went  forward  to  receive  him. 


Liza.  53 

"  How  are  you  ?  how  are  you,  my  clear  cousin  ? "  she. 
exclaimed,  with  an  almost  lachrymose  voice,  dwelling 
on  each  word  she  uttered.  "How  glad  I  am  to  see 
you  ! " 

"  How  are  you,  my  good  cousin  ? "  replied  Lavret- 
sky,  with  a  friendly  pressure  of  her  outstretched  hand. 
"  Is  all  well  with  you  ?  " 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,  my  dear  Fedor  Ivanovich. 
Oh,  how  delighted  I  am !  But  first  let  me  introduce 
my  daughter  Liza." 

"I  have  already  introduced  myself  to  Lizaveta 
Mikhailovna,"  inten  upted  Lavretsky. 

"  Monsieur  Panshine — Sergius  Petrovich  Gedeon- 
ovsky.  But  do  sit  down.  I  look  at  you,  and,  really,  I 
can  scarcely  trust  my  eyes.  But  tell  me  about  your 
health  ;  is  it  good  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  well,  as  you  can  see.  And  you,  too, 
cousin — if  I  can  say  so  without  bringing  you  bad  luck* 
— you  are  none  the  worse  for  these  seven  years." 

"  When  I  think  what  a  number  of  years  it  is  since 
we  last  saw  one  another,"  musingly  said  Maria  Drnit- 
rievna.  "  Where  do  you  come  from  now  ?  Where  have 
you  left — that's  to  say,  I  meant" — she  hurriedly  cor- 
rected herself — "  I  meant  to  say,  shall  you  stay  with  us 
long  ?  " 

*  A  reference  to  the  superstition  of  the  "  evil  eye,"  still  rife 
among  the  peasants  in  Russia.  Though  it  has  died  out  among  the 
educated  classes,  yet  the  phrase,  "  not  to  cast  an  evil  eye,"  is  still 
made  use  of  in  conversation. 


54  Liza. 

"  I  come  just  now  from  Berlin,"  replied  Lavretsky, 
"  and  to-morrow  I  shall  go  into  the  country — to  stay 
there,  in  all  probability,  a  long  time." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  live  at  Lavriki  ? " 

"  No,  not  at  Lavriki ;  but  I  have  a  small  property 
about  five-ancl-twenty  versts  from  here,  and  I  am  going 
there." 

"  Is  that  the  property  which  Glafira  Petrovna  left 
you  ? " 

"  Yes,  that's  it." 

"  But  really,  Fedor  Ivanovich,  you  have  such  a 
charming  house  at  Lavriki." 

Lavretsky  frowned  a  little. 

"  Yes — but  I  have  a  cottage  on  the  other  estate  too  ; 
I  don't  require  any  more  just  now.  That  place  is — 
most  convenient  for  me  at  present." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  became  once  more  so  embar- 
rassed that  she  actually  sat  upright  in  her  chair,  and  let 
her  hands  drop  by  her  side.  Panshine  came  to  the 
rescue,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  Lavretsky. 
Maria  Dmitrievna  by  degrees  grew  calm,  leant  back 
again  comfortably  in  her  chair,  and  from  time  to  time 
contributed  a  word  or  two  to  the  conversation.  But 
still  she  kept  looking  at  her  guest  so  pitifully,  sighing 
so  significantly,  and  shaking  her  head  so  sadly,  that  at 
last  he  lost  all  patience,  and  asked  her,  somewhat 
brusquely,  if  she  was  unwell. 

"  No,  thank  God !  "  answered  Maria  Dmitrievna  ; 
'*  but  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 


Liza.  55 

"  Because  I  thought  you  did  not  seem  quite  your- 
self." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  assumed  a  dignified  and  some- 
what offended  expression. 

"  If  that's  the  way  you  take  it,"  she  thought,  "  it's  a 
matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  me ;  it's  clear  that 
every  thing  slides  off  you  like  water  off  a  goose.  Any 
one  else  would  have  withered  up  with  misery,  but  you've 
grown  fat  on  it." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  did  not  stand  upon  ceremony 
when  she  was  only  thinking  to  herself.  When  she  spoke 
aloud  she  was  more  choice  in  her  expressions. 

And  in  reality  Lavretsky  did  not  look  like  a  victim 
of  destiny.  His  rosy-cheeked,  thoroughly  Russian  face, 
with  its  large  white  forehead,  somewhat  thick  nose,  and 
long  straight  lips,  seemed  to  speak  of  robust  health  and 
enduring  vigor  of  constitution.  He  was  powerfully 
built,  and  his  light  hair  twined  in  curls,  like  a  boy's, 
about  his  head.  Only  in  his  eyes,  which  were  blue, 
rather  prominent,  and  a  little  wanting  in  mobility,  an 
expression  might  be  remarked  which  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  define.  It  might  have  been  melancholy,  or  it 
might  have  been  fatigue ;  and  the  ring  of  his  voice 
seemed  somewhat  monotonous. 

All  this  time  Panshine  was  supporting  the  burden 
of  the  conversation.  He  brought  it  round  to  the 
advantages  of  sugar  making,  about  which  he  had 
lately  read  two  French  pamphlets;  their  contents  he 
now  proceeded  to  disclose,  speaking  with  an  air  of 


56  Liza. 

great  modesty,  but  without  saying  a  single  word  about 
the  sources  of  his  information. 

"  Why,  there's  Fedia ! "  suddenly  exclaimed  the 
voice  of  Marfa  Timofeevna  in  the  next  room,  the  door 
of  which  had  been  left  half  open.  "  Actually,  Fedia  !  " 
And  the  old  lady  hastily  entered  the  room.  Lavretsky 
hadn't  had  time  to  rise  from  his  chair  before  she  had 
caught  him  in  her  arms.  "  Let  me  have  a  look  at  you,': 
she  exclaimed,  holding  him  at  a  little  distance  from  her. 
"  Oh,  how  well  you  are  looking !  You've  grown  a  little 
older,  but  you  haven't  altered  a  bit  for  the  worse,  that's 
a  fact.  But  what  makes  you  kiss  my  hand.  Kiss  my 
face,  if  you  please,  unless  you  don't  like  the  look  of 
my  wrinkled  cheeks.  I  dare  say  you  never  asked  after 
me,  or  whether  your  aunt  was  alive  or  no.  And  yet  it 
was  my  hands  received  you  when  you  first  saw  the 
light,  you  good-for-nothing  fellow  !  Ah,  well,  it's  all 
one.  But  it  was  a  good  idea  of  yours  to  come  here.  I 
say,  my  dear,"  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  turning  to  Maria 
Dmitrievna,  "  have  you  offered  him  any  refreshment  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  any  thing,"  hastily  said  Lavretsky. 

"Well,  at  all  events,  you  will  drink  tea  with  u>, 
latyushka.  Gracious  heavens !  A  man  comes,  good- 
ness knows  from  how  far  off,  and  no  one  gives  him  so 
much  as  a  cup  of  tea.  Liza,  go  and  see  after  it 
quickly.  I  remember  he  was  a  terrible  glutton  when  he 
was  a  boy,  and  even  now,  perhaps,  he  is  fond  of  eating 
and  drinking." 

"  Allow  me  to  pay  my  respects,  Maria  Timofeevna," 


Liza.  57 

said  Panshine,  coming  up  to  the  excited  old  lady,  and 
making  her  a  low  bow. 

"  Pray  excuse  me,  my  clear  sir,"  replied  Marfa 
Timofeevna,  "I  overlooked  you  in  my  joy.  You're 
just  like  your  dear  mother,"  she  continued,  turning  anew 
to  Lavretsky,  "  only  you  always  had  your  father's  nose, 
and  you  have  it  still.  Well,  shall  you  stay  here  long? " 

"  I  go  away  to-morrow,  aunt." 

"  To  where  ? " 

"  To  my  house  at  Vasilievskoe." 

"  To-morrow  ? " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Well,  if  it  must  be  to-morrow,  so  be  it.  God  be 
with  you  !  You  know  what  is  best  for  yourself.  Only 
mind  you  come  and  say  good-bye."  The  old  lady 
tapped  him  gently  on  the  cheek.  "  I  didn't  suppose  I 
should  live  to  see  you  come  back ;  not  that  I  thought  I 
was  going  to  die — no,  no  ;  I  have  life  enough  left  in  me 
for  ten  years  to  come.  All  we  Pestofs  are  long-lived — 
your  late  grandfather  used  to  call  us  double-lived ;  bu: 
God  alone  could  tell  how  long  you  were  going  to  loitei 
abroad.  Well,  well !  You  are  a  fine  fellow — a  very 
fine  fellow.  I  dare  say  you  can  still  lift  ten  poods* 
with  one  hand,  as  you  used  to  do.  Your  late  father,  if 
you'll  excuse  my  saying  so,  was  as  nonsensical  as  he 
could  be,  but  he  did  well  in  getting  you  that  Swiss  tutor. 
Do  you  remember  the  boxing  matches  you  used  to  have 
with  him  ?  Gymnastics,  wasn't  it,  you  used  to  call 

"  The  poocl  weighs  thirty-six  pounds. 


S»  Liza. 

them  ?  But  why  should  I  go  on  cackling  like  this  ?  1 
shall  only  prevent  Monsieur  ~P&nshwe  (she  never  laid 
the  accent  on  the  first  syllable  of  his  name,  as  she 
ought  to  have  done)  from  favoring  us  with  his  opinions. 
On  the  whole,  we  had  much  better  go  and  have  tea. 
Yes,  let's  go  and  have  it  on  the  terrace.  We  have 
magnificent  cream — not  like  what  they  have  in  your 
Londons  and  Parises.  Come  away,  come  away;  and 
you,  Fecliouchka,  give  me  your  arm.  What  a  strong 
arm  you  have,  to  be  sure  !  I  shan't  fall  while  you're  by 
my  side." 

Every  one  rose  and  went  out  on  the  terrace,  except 
Gecleonovsky,  who  slipped  away  stealthily.  During  the 
whole  time  Lavretsky  was  talking  with  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  with  Panshine  and  with  Marfa  Timofeevna, 
that  old  gentleman  had  been  sitting  in  his  corner, 
squeezing  up  his  eyes  and  shooting  out  his  lips,  while 
he  listened  with  the  curiosity  of  a  child  to  all  that  was 
being  said.  When  he  left,  it  was  that  he  might  hasten  to 
spread  through  the  town  the  news  of  the  recent  arrival. 

Here  is  a  picture  of  what  was  taking  place  at  eleven 
o'clock  that  same  evening  in  the  Kalitines'  house. 
Down  stairs,  on  the  threshold  of  the  drawing-room, 
Panshine  was  taking  leave  of  Liza,  and  saying,  as  he 
held  her  hand  in  his  : — 

"  You  know  who  it  is  that  attracts  me  here ;  you 
know  why  I  am  always  coming  to  your  house.  Of  what 
use  are  words  when  all  is  so  clear  ? " 


Liza.  59 

Liza  did  not  say  a  word  in  reply — she  did  not  even 
smile.  Slightly  arching  her  eyebrows,  and  growing 
rather  red,  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  but 
did  not  withdraw  her  hand.  Up  stairs,  in  Marfa  Timo- 
feevna's  room,  the  light  of  the  lamp,  which  hung  in  the 
corner  before  the  age-embrowned  sacred  pictures,  fell 
on  Lavretsky,  as  he  sat  in  an  arm-chair,  his  elbows 
resting  on  his  knees,  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  In 
front  of  him  stood  the  old  lady,  who  from  time  to  time 
silently  passed  her  hand  over  his  hair.  He  spent  more 
than  an  hour  with  her  after  taking  leave  of  the  mistress 
of  the  house,  he  scarcely  saying  a  word  to  his  kind  old 
friend,  and  she  not  asking  him  any  questions.  And 
why  should  he  have  spoken  ?  what  could  she  have 
asked  ?  She  understood  all  so  well,  she  so  fully  syn  oa- 
thized  with  all  the  feelings  which  filled  his  heart. 


VIII. 

FEDOR  IVAXOVICH  LAVRETSKY  (we  must  ask  oui 
reader's  permission  to  break  off  the  thread  of  the  story 
for  a  tinie)  sprang  from  a  noble  family  of  long  descent. 
The  founder  of  the  race  migrated  from  Prussia  during 
the  reign  of  Basil  the  Blind,*  and  was  favored  with  a 
grant  of  two  hundred  chctvcrts\  of  land  in  the  district 
of  Biejetsk.  Many  of  his  descendants  filled  various 
official  positions,  and  were  appointed  to  governorships 
in  distant  places,  under  princes  and  influential  person- 
ages, but  none  of  them  obtained  any  great  amount  of 
property,  or  arrived  at  a  higher  dignity  than  that  of 
inspector  of  the  Czar's  table. 

The  richest  and  most  influential  of  all  the  Lavret- 
skys  was  Fedor  Ivanovich's  paternal  great-grandfather 
Andrei,  a  man  who  was  harsh,  insolent,  shrewd,  and 
crafty.  Even  up  to  the  present  day  men  have  never 
ceased  to  talk  about  his  despotic  manners,  his  furious 
temper,  his  senseless  prodigality,  and  his  insatiable  av- 
arice. He  was  very  tall  and  stout,  his  complexion  was 
swarthy,  and  he  wore  no  beard.  He  lisped,  and  he  gen- 

*  In  the  fifteenth  century. 

f  An  old  measure  of  land,  variously  estimated  at  from  t»vo  to  bi* 
an  cs. 


Liza.  6 1 

erally  seemed  half  asleep.  But  the  more  quietly  he 
spoke,  the  more  did  all  around  him  tremble.  He  had 
found  a  wife  not  unlike  himself.  She  had  a  round  face, 
a  yellow  complexion,  prominent  eyes,  and  the  nose  of 
a  hawk.  A  gypsy  by  descent,  passionate  and  vindic- 
tive in  temper,  she  refused  to  yield  in  any  thing  to  her 
husband,  who  all  but  brought  her  to  her  grave,  and 
whom,  although  she  had  been  eternally  squabbling  with 
him,  she  could  not  bear  long  to  survive. 

Andrei's  son,  Peter,  our  Fedor's  grandfather,  did  not 
take  after  his  father.  He  was  a  simple  country  genUe- 
man;  rather  odd,  noisy  in  voice  and  slow  in  action, 
rough  but  not  malicious,  hospitable,  and  devoted  to  cours- 
ing. He  was  more  than  thirty  years  old  when  he  inher- 
ited from  his  father  two  thousand  souls,*  all  in  excellent 
condition  ;  but  he  soon  began  to  squander  his  property, 
a  part  of  which  he  disposed  of  by  sale,  and  he  spoilt 
his  household.  His  large,  warm,  and  dirty  rooms  were 
full  of  people  of  small  degree,  known  and  unknown, 
who  swarmed  in  from  all  sides  like  cockroaches.  Al! 
these  visitors  gorged  themselves  with  whatever  came  in 
iheir  way,  drank  their  fill  to  intoxication,  and  carried 
off  what  they  could,  extolling  and  glorifying  their  affa- 
ble host.  As  for  their  host,  when  he  was  out  of  humoi 
with  them,  he  called  them  scamps  and  parasites ;  but. 
when  deprived  of  their  company,  he  soon  found  himself 
bored. 

The  wife  of  Peter  Andreich  was  a  quiet  creature 
*  Male  serfs. 


62  Liza. 

whom  he  had  taken  from  a  neighboring  family  in  ac 
quiescence  with  his  father's  choice  and  command.  Her 
name  was  Anna  Pavlovna.  She  never  interfered  in 
any  thing,  received  her  guests  cordially,  and  went  out 
into  society  herself  with  pleasure — although  "  it  was 
death  "  to  her,  to  use  her  own  phrase,  to  have  to  powder 
herself.  "  They  put  a  felt  cap  on  your  head,"  she  used 
to  say  in  her  old  age ;  "  they  combed  all  your  hair 
straight  up  on  end,  they  smeared  it  with  grease,  they 
strewed  it  with  flour,  they  stuck  it  full  of  iron  pins ;  you 
couldn't  wash  it  away  afterwards.  But  to  pay  a  visit 
without  powdering  was  impossible.  People  would  have 
taken  offence.  What  a  torment  it  was  !  "  She  liked  to 
drive  fast,  and  was  ready  to  play  at  cards  from  morning 
until  evening.  When  her  husband  approached  the  card- 
table,  she  was  always  in  the  habit  of  covering  with  her 
hand  the  trumpery  losses  scored  up  against  her;  but 
she  had  made  over  to  him,  without  reserve,  all  her  dowry, 
all  the  money  she  had.  She  brought  him  two  children 
— a  son  named  Ivan,  our  Fedor's  father,  and  a  daughter, 
Glafira.* 

Ivan  was  not  brought  up  at  home,  but  in  the  house  of 
an  old  and  wealthy  maiden  aunt,  Princess  Kubensky.  She 
styled  him  her  heir  (if  it  had  not  been  for  that,  his  father 
would  not  have  let  him  go),  dressed  him  like  a  doll,  gave 
him  teachers  of  every  kind,  and  placed  him  under  the 
care  of  a  French  tutor— an  ex-abbe",  a  pupil  of  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau — a  certain  M.  Cou/tin  de  Vaucelles 

*The  accent  should  be  on  the  second  syllable  of  this  name. 


Liza.  63 

an  adroit  and  subtle  intriguer — "the  very  fine  fleur  of 
the  emigration,"  as  she  expressed  herself;  and  she 
ended  by  marrying  this  _/£;/£  fleur  when  she  was  almost 
seventy  years  old.  She  transferred  all  her  property  to 
his  name,  and  soon  afterwards,  rouged,  perfumed  with 
amber  a  la  Richelieu,  surrounded  by  negro  boys,  Italian 
grey-hounds,  and  noisy  parrots,  she  died,  stretched  on  a 
crooked  silken  couch  of  the  style  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth, 
with  an  enamelled  snuff-box  of  Petitot's  work  in  her 
hands — and  died  deserted  by  her  husband.  The  insin- 
uating M.  Courtin  had  preferred  to  take  himself  and 
her  money  off  to  Paris. 

Ivan  was  in  his  twentieth  year  when  this  unexpected 
blow  struck  him.  We  speak  of  the  Princess's  marriage, 
not  her  death.  In  his  aunt's  house,  in  which  he  had 
suddenly  passed  from  the  position  of  a  wealthy  heir  to 
that  of  a  hanger-on,  he  would  not  stay  any  longer.  In 
Petersburg,  the  society  in  which  he  had  grown  up  closed 
its  doors  upon  him.  For  the  lower  ranks  of  the  public 
service,  and  the  laborious  and  obscure  life  they  involved, 
he  felt  a  strong  repugnance.  All  this,  it  must  be  re- 
membered, took  place  in  the  earliest  part  of  the  reign 
of  the  Emperor  Alexander  L*  He  was  obliged,  great- 
ly against  his  will,  to  return  to  his  father's  country  house. 
Dirty,  poor,  and  miserable  did  the  paternal  nest  seem 
to  him.  The  solitude  and  the  dullness  of  a  retired 
country  life  offended  him  at  every  step.  He  was  de- 
voured by  ennui ;  besides,  every  one  in  the  house,  ex- 

*  When  corruption  was  the  rule  in  the  public  sen-ice. 


64  Liza. 

cept  his  mother,  regarded  him  with  unloving  eyes.  His 
father  disliked  his  metropolitan  habits,  his  dress-coats 
and  shirt-frills,  his  books,  his  flute,  his  cleanliness — from 
which  he  justly  argued  that  his  son  regarded  him  with  a 
feeling  of  aversion.  He  was  always  grumbling  at  his 
son,  and  complaining  of  his  conduct. 

"  Nothing  we  have  here  pleases  him,"  he  used  to  say. 
"  He  is  so  fastidious  at  table,  he  eats  nothing.  He  can- 
not bear  the  air  and  the  smell  of  the  room.  The  sight 
of  drunken  people  upsets  him  ;  and  as  to  beating  any- 
one before  him,  you  musn't  dare  to  do  it.  Then  he 
won't  enter  the  service ;  his  health  is  delicate,  forsooth  ! 
Bah !  What  an  effeminate  creature  ! — and  all  because 
his  head  is  full  of  Voltaire !  "  The  old  man  particu 
larly  disliked  Voltaire,  and  also  the  "  infidel  "  Diderot, 
although  he  had  never  read  a  word  of  their  works. 
Reading  was  not  in  his  line. 

Peter  Andreich  was  not  mistaken.  Both  Diderot 
and  Voltaire  really  were  in  his  son's  head;  and  not 
they  alone.  Rousseau  and  Raynal  and  Helvetius  also, 
and  many  other  similar  writers,  were  in  his  head;  but 
in  his  head  only.  Ivan  Petrovich's  former  tutor,  the 
retired  Abbe  and  encyclopedist,  had  satisfied  himself 
with  pouring  all  the  collective  wisdom  of  the  eighteenth 
century  over  his  pupil ;  and  so  the  pupil  existed,  satu- 
rated with  it.  It  held  its  own  in  him  without  mixing 
with  his  blood,  without  sinking  into  his  mind,  without 
resolving  into  fixed  convictions.  And  would  it  be  rea- 
sonable to  ask  for  convictions  from  a  youngster  half  ? 


f.iza.  65 

century  ago,  when  we  have  not  even  yet  acquired 
any  ? 

Ivan  Petrovich  disconcerted  the  visitors  also  in  his 
father's  house.  He  was  too  proud  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  them ;  they  feared  him.  With  his  sister  Gla- 
fira,  too,  who  was  twelve  years  his  senior,  he  did  not  at 
all  agree.  This  Glafira  was  a  strange  being.  Plain, 
deformed,  meagre — with  staring  and  severe  eyes,  and 
with  thin,  compressed  lips — she,  in  her  face  and  her 
voice,  and  in  her  angular  and  quick  movements,  resem- 
bled her  grandmother,  the  gipsy  Andrei's  wife.  Obsti- 
nate, and  fond  of  power,  she  would  not  even  hear  of 
marriage.  Ivan  Petrovich's  return  home  was  by  no 
means  to  her  taste.  So  long  as  the  Princess  Kubensky 
kept  him  with  her,  Glafira  had  hoped  to  obtain  at  least 
half  of  her  father's  property ;  and  in  her  avarice,  as 
well  as  in  other  points,  she  resembled  her  grandmother. 
Besides  this,  Glafira  was  jealous  of  her  brother.  He 
had  been  educated  so  well ;  he  spoke  French  so  cor- 
rectly, with  a  Parisian  accent ;  and  she  scarcely  knew 
how  to  say  "  Bonjour"  and  "  Comment  vous  portez 
ic us  V  It  is  true  that  her  parents  were  entirely  igno- 
rant of  French,  but  that  did  not  make  things  any  better 
for  her. 

As  to  Ivan  Petrovich,  he  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  himself  for  vexation  and  ennui ;  he  had  not  spent 
quite  a  year  in  the  country,  but  even  this  time  seemed 
to  him  like  ten  years.  It  was  only  with  his  mothei  that 
he  was  at  ease  in  spirit ;  and  for  whole  hours  he  used 


66  Liza. 

to  sit  in  her  low  suite  of  rooms  listening  to  the  good 
lady's  simple,  unconnected  talk,  and  stuffing  himself 
with  preserves.  It  happened  that  among  Anna  Pavlov- 
na's  maids  there  was  a  very  pretty  girl  named  Malania. 
Intelligent  and  modest,  with  calm,  sweet  eyes,  and  fine- 
ly-cut features,  she  pleased  Ivan  Petrovich  from  the 
very  first,  and  he  soon  fell  in  love  with  her.  He  loved 
her  timid  gait,  her  modest  replies,  her  gentle  voice,  her 
quiet  smile.  Every  day  she  seemed  to  him  more 
attractive  than  before.  And  she  attached  herself  to 
Ivan  Petrovich  with  the  whole  strength  of  her  soul — as 
only  Russian  girls  know  how  to  devote  themselves — 
and  gave  herself  to  him.  In  a  country  house  no  secret 
can  be  preserved  long ;  in  a  short  time  almost  every 
one  knew  of  the  young  master's  fondness  for  Malania. 
At  last  the  news  reached  Peter  Andreich  himself.  At 
another  time  it  is  probable  that  he  would  have  paid 
very  little  attention  to  so  unimportant  an  affair;  but  he 
had  long  nursed  a  grudge  against  his  son,  and  he  was 
delighted  to  have  an  opportunity  of  disgracing  the  phi-  , 
losophical  exquisite  from  St.  Petersburg.  There  ensued 
a  storm,  attended  by  noise  and  outcry.  Malania  was 
locked  up  in  the  store-room.*  Ivan  Petrovich  was 
summoned  into  his  father's  presence.  AnnaPavlovna 
also  came  running  to  the  scene  of  confusion,  and  tried  to 
appease  her  husband;  but  he  would  not  listen  to  a 
word  she  said.  Like  a  hawk,  he  pounced  upon  his  son 

*  A  sort  of  closet  under  the  stairs. 


Liza.  6} 

charging  him  with  immorality,  atheism,  and  hypocrisy. 
He  eagerly  availed  himself  of  so  good  an  opportunity 
of  discharging  on  him  all  his  long-gathered  spite  against 
the  Princess  Kubensky,  and  overwhelmed  him  with  in- 
sulting expressions. 

At  first  Ivan  Petrovich  kept  silence,  and  maintained 
his  hold  over  himself;  but  when  his  father  thought  fit 
to  threaten  him  with  a  disgraceful  punishment,  he  could 
bear  it  no  longer.  "  Ah  !  "  he  thought,  "  the  infidel 
Diderot  is  going  to  be  brought  forward  again.  Well, 
then,  I  will  put  his  teaching  in  action."  And  so  with  a 
quiet  and  even  voice,  although  with  a  secret  shuddering 
in  all  his  limbs,  he  told  his  father  that  it  was  a  mistake 
to  accuse  him  of  immorality ;  that  he  had  no  intention 
of  justifying  his  fault,  but  that  he  was  ready  to  make 
amends  for  it,  and  that  all  the  more  willingly,  inasmuch 
as  he  felt  himself  superior  to  all  prejudices;  and,  in 
fact — that  he  was  ready  to  marry  Malania.  In  uttering 
these  words  Ivan  Petrovich  undoubtedly  attained  the 
end  he  had  in  view.  Peter  Andreich  was  so  confounded 
that  he  opened  his  eyes  wide,  and  for  a  moment  was 
struck  dumb  ;  but  he  immediately  recovered  his  senses, 
and  then  and  there,  just  as  he  was,  wrapped  in  a  dress- 
ing-gown trimmed  with  squirrels'  fur,  and  with  slippers 
on  his  bare  feet,  he  rushed  with  clenched  fists  at  his 
son,  who,  as  if  on  purpose,  had  dressed  his  hair  that 
day  a  la  Titus,  and  had  put  on  a  blue  dress-coat,  quite 
new  and  made  in  the  English  fashion,  tasselled  boots, 
and  dandified,  tight-fitting  buckskin  pantaloons.  Anna 


t>6  Liza. 

Pavlovna  uttered  a  loud  shriek,  and  hid  her  face  in  he. 
hands  ;  meanwhile  her  son  ran  right  through  the  house, 
jumped  into  the  court-yard,  threw  himself  first  into  the 
kitchen  garden  and  then  into  the  flower  garden,  flew 
across  the  park  into  the  road,  and  ran  and  ran,  without 
once  looking  back,  until  at  last  he  ceased  to  hear  behind 
him  the  sound  of  his  fathers  heavy  feet,  the  loud  and 
broken  cries  with  which  his  father  sobbed  out,  "  Stop, 
villain  !  Stop,  or  I  will  curse  you  !  " 

Ivan  Petrovich  took  refuge  in  the  house  of  a  neigh- 
bor,* and  his  father  returned  home  utterly  exhausted, 
and  bathed  in  perspiration.  There  he  announced,  al- 
most before  he  had  given  himself  time  to  recover  breath, 
that  he  withdrew  his  blessing  and  his  property  from  his 
son,  whose  stupid  books  he  condemned  to  be  buint; 
and  he  gave  orders  to  have  the  girl  Malania  sent,  with 
out  delay,  to  a  distant  village.  Some  good  people 
found  out  where  Ivan  Petrovich  was,  and  told  him 
everything.  Full  of  shame  and  rage,  he  swore  ven- 
geance upon  his  father ;  and  that  very  night,  having 
lain  in  wait  for  the  peasant's  cart  on  which  Malania 
was  being  sent  away,  he  carried  her  off  by  force,  gal- 
loped with  her  to  the  nearest  town,  and  there  married 
her.  He  was  supplied  with  the  necessary  means  by  a 

*  Literally,  "  of  a  neighboring  Odnodvorets."  That  word  sig- 
nifies one  who  belongs  by  descent  to  the  class  of  nobles  and  pro- 
prietors, but  who  has  no  serfs  belonging  to  him,  and  is  really  2 
moujik,  or  peasant.  Some  villages  are  composed  of  inhabitants  ot 
this  class,  who  are  often  intelligent,  though  uneducated. 


Liza.  69 

neighbor,  a  hard-drinking,  retired  sailor,  who  was  ex 
ceeclingly  good-natured,  and  a  very  great  lover  of  all 
"  noble  histories,"  as  he  called  them. 

The  next  day  Ivan  Petrovich  sent  his  father  a  letter, 
which  was  frigidly  and  ironically  polite,  and  then  be- 
took himself  to  the  estate  of  two  of  his  second  cousins, 
— Dmitry  Pestof,  and  his  sister  Marfa  Timofeevna, 
with  the  latter  of  whom  the  reader  is  already  acquainted. 
He  told  them  everything  that  had  happened,  announced 
his  intention  of  going  to  St.  Petersburg  to  seek  an  ap- 
pointment, and  begged  them  to  give  shelter  to  his  wife, 
even  if  only  for  a  time.  At  the  word  "  wife  "  he  sobbed 
bitterly ;  and,  in  spite  of  his  metropolitan  education, 
and  his  philosophy,  he  humbly,  like  a  thorough  Russian 
peasant,  knelt  down  at  the  feet  of  his  relations,  and 
even  touched  the  floor  with  his  forehead. 

The  Pestofs,  who  were  kind  and  compassionate 
people,  willingly  consented  to  his  request.  With  them 
he  spent  three  weeks,  secretly  expecting  an  answer 
from  his  father.  But  no  answer  came ;  no  answer 
could  come.  Peter  Andreich,  when  he  received  the 
news  of  the  marriage,  took  to  his  bed,  and  gave  orders 
that  his  son's  name  should  never  again  be  mentioned 
to  him ;  but  Ivan's  mother,  without  her  husband's 
knowledge,  borrowed  five  hundred  paper  roubles  from 
a  neighboring  priest,*  and  sent  them  to  her  son,  with  a 

*  Literally,  "  from  the  Blagochinny"  an  ecclesiastic  who  exer 
cises  supervision  over  a  number  of  churches  or  parishes,  a  soit  of 
Rural  Dean. 


70  Liza. 

little  sacred  pictire  for  his  wife.  She  was  afraid  ot 
writing,  but  she  told  her  messenger,  a  spare  little  peas 
ant  who  could  walk  sixty  versts  in  a  day,  to  say  to  Ivan 
that  he  was  not  to  fret  too  much ;  that  please  God,  all 
would  yet  go  right,  and  his  father's  wrath  would  turn  to 
kindness — that  she,  too,  would  have  preferred  a  differ- 
ent daughter-in-law ;  but  that  evidently  God  had  willed 
it  as  it  was,  and  that  she  sent  her  paternal  benediction 
to  Malania  Sergievna.  The  spare  little  peasant  had  a 
rouble  given  him,  asked  leave  to  see  the  new  mistress, 
whose  gossip*  he  was,  kissed  her  hand,  and  returned 
home. 

So  Ivan  Petrovich  betook  himself  to  St.  Petersburg 
with  a  light  heart.  An  unknown  future  lay  before  him. 
Poverty  might  menace  him ;  but  he  had  broken  with 
the  hateful  life  in  the  country,  and,  above  all,  he  had 
hot  fallen  short  of  his  instructors ;  he  had  really  "  put 
into  action,"  and  indeed  done  justice  to,  the  doctrines 
of  Rousseau,  Diderot,  and  the  "  Declaration  of  the 
Rights  of  Man/'  The  conviction  of  having  accom- 
plished a  duty,  a  sense  of  pride  and  of  triumph,  filled 
his  soul ;  and  the  fact  of  having  to  separate  from  his 
wife  did  not  greatly  alarm  him ;  he  would  far  sooner 
have  been  troubled  by  the  necessity  of  having  con- 
stantly to  live  with  her.  He  had  now  to  think  of  other 
affairs.  One  task  was  finished. 

In  St.  Petersburg,  contrary  to  his  own  expectations- 
he  was  successful.  The  Princess  Kubensky — whom 

*  The  word  is  used  in  its  old  meaning  of  fellow-sponsor. 


Liza.  i  \ 

M.  Courtin  had  already  flung  aside,  but  who  had 
not  yet  contrived  to  die — in  order  that  she  might  at 
least  to  some  extent,  make  amends  for  her  conduct 
towards  her  nephew,  recommended  him  to  all  her 
friends,  and  gave  him  five  thousand  roubles — almost 
all  the  money  she  had  left — and  a  watch,  with  his 
crest  wrought  on  its  back  surrounded  by  a  wreath  of 
Cupids. 

Three  months  had  not  gone  by  before  he  received 
an  appointment  on  the  staff  of  the  Russian  embassy 
in  London,  whither  he  set  sail  (steamers  were  not  even 
talked  about  then)  in  the  first  homeward  bound  English 
vessel  he  could  find.  A  few  months  later  he  received 
a  letter  from  Pestof.  The  kind-hearted  gentleman 
congratulated  him  on  the  birth  of  a  son,  who  had 
come  into  the  world  at  the  village  of  Pokrovskoe,  on 
the  2oth  of  August,  1807,  and  had  been  named  Fedor, 
in  honor  of  the  holy  martyr  Fedor  Stratilates.  On 
account  of  her  extreme  weakness,  Malania  Sergievna 
could  add  only  a  few  lines.  But  even  those  few  aston- 
ished Ivan  Petrovich;  he  was  not  aware  that  Marfa 
Timofeevna  had  taught  his  wife  to  read  and  write. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Ivan  Petrovich 
gave  himself  up  for  any  length  of  time  to  the  sweet 
emotion  caused  by  paternal  feeling.  He  was  just 
then  paying  court  to  one  of  the  celebrated  Phrynes  or 
Laises  of  the  day — classical  names  were  still  in  vogue 
at  that  time.  The  peace  of  Tilset  was  only  just 


72  Liza. 

concluded,*  and  every  one  was  hastening  to  enjoy 
himself,  every  one  was  being  swept  round  by  a  gid- 
dy whirlwind.  The  black  eyes  of  a  bold  beauty  had 
helped  to  turn  his  head  also.  He  had  very  little 
money,  but  he  played  cards  luckily,  made  friends, 
joined  in  all  possible  diversions — in  a  word,  he  sailed 
with  all  sail  set. 

*  In  consequence  of  which  the  Russian  embassy  was  withdrawn 
from  London,  and  Ivan  Petrovich  probably  went  to  Paris. 


IX. 

FOR  a  long  time  the  old  Lavretsky  could  not  forgive 
his  son  for  his  marriage.  If,  at  the  end  of  six  months, 
Ivan  Petrovich  had  appeared  before  him  with  contrite 
mien,  and  had  fallen  at  his  feet,  the  old  man  would, 
perhaps,  have  pardoned  the  offender  —  after  having 
soundly  abused  him,  and  given  him  a  tap  with  his 
crutch  by  way  of  frightening  him.  But  Ivan  Petrovich 
went  on  living  abroad,  and,  apparently,  troubled  him- 
self but  little  about  his  father.  "  Silence  !  don't  dare 
to  say  another  word  !  "  exclaimed  Peter  Andreich  to  his 
wife,  eveiy  time  she  tried  to  mollify  him.  "  That  pup- 
py ought  to  be  always  praying  to  God  for  me,  since  I 
have  not  laid  my  curse  upon  him,  the  good-for-nothing 
fellow  !  Why,  my  late  father  would  have  killed  him 
with  his  own  hands,  and  he  would  have  done  well." 
All  that  Anna  Pavlovna  could  do  was  to  cross  herself 
stealthily  when  she  heard  such  terrible  words  as  these. 
As  to  his  son's  wife,  Peter  Andreich  would  not  so  much 
as  hear  of -her  at  first;  and  even  when  he  had  to  an- 
swer-a  letter  in  which  his  daughter-in-law  was  mentioned 
by  Pestof,  he  ordered  a  message  to  be  sent  to  him  to 
say  that  he  did  not  know  of  any  one  who  could  be  his 
4 


74  Liza. 

daughter-in-law,  and  that  it  was  contrary  to  the  law  to 
shelter  runaway  female  serfs,  a  fact  of  which  he  con- 
sidered it  a  duty  to  warn  him.  But  afterwards,  on  learn- 
ing the  birth  of  his  grandson,  his  heart  softened  a  little  ; 
he  gave  orders  that  inquiries  should  be  secretly  made 
on  his  behalf  about  the  mother's  health,  and  he  sent 
her — but  still,  not  as  if  it  came  from  himself — a  small 
3um  of  money. 

Before  Fedor  was  a  year  old,  his  grandmother,  Anna 
Pavlovna,  was  struck  down  by  a  mortal  complaint.  A 
few  days  before  her  death,  when  she  could  no  longer 
rise  from  her  bed,  she  told  her  husband  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  priest,  while  her  dying  eyes  swam  with  timid 
tears,  that  she  wished  to  see  her  daughter-in-law,  and 
to  bid  her  farewell,  and  to  bless  her  grandson.  The  old 
man,  who  was  greatly  moved,  bade  her  set  her  mind  at 
rest,  and  immediately  sent  his  own  carriage  for  his 
daughter-in-law,  calling  her,  for  the  first  time,  Malania 
Sergievna.*  Malania  arrived  with  her  boy,  and  with 
Marfa  Timofeevna,  whom  nothing  would  have  induced 
to  allow  her  to  go  alone,  and  who  was  determined  not 
to  allow  her  to  meet  with  any  harm.  Half  dead  with 
fright,  Malania  Sergievna  entered  her  father-in-law's 
study,  a  nurse  carrying  Fedia  behind  her.  Peter  Ancl- 
reich  looked  at  her  in  silence.  She  drew  near  and  took 
his  hand,  on  which  her  quivering  lips  could  scarcely 
press  a  silent  kiss. 

*  That  is  to  say,  no  longer  speaking  of  her  as  if  she  were  still 
a  servant. 


Liza. 


75 


"  Well,  noble  lady,"*  he  said  at  last,— "Good- day  to 
you ;  let's  go  to  my  wife's  room." 

He  rose  and  bent  over  Fedia ;  the  babe  smiled  ana 
stretched  out  its  tiny  white  hands  towards  him.  The 
old  man  was  touched. 

"  Ah,  my  orphaned  one  ! ''  he  said.  "  You  have  suc- 
cessfully pleaded  your  father's  cause.  I  will  not  desert 
you,  little  bird." 

As  soon  as  Malania  Sergievna  entered  Anna  Pav- 
lovna's  bed-room,  she  fell  on  her  knees  near  the  door. 
Anna  Pavlovna,  having  made  her  a  sign  to  come  to  her 
bedside,  embraced  her,  and  blessed  her  child.  Then, 
turning  towards  her  husband  a  face  worn  by  cruel  suf- 
fering, she  would  have  spoken  to  him,  but  he  prevented 
her. 

"  I  know,  I  know  what  you  want  to  ask,"  he  said ; 
"  don't  worry  yourself.  She  shall  remain  with  us,  and 
for  her  sake  I  will  forgive  Vanka."  f 

Anna  Pavlovna  succeeded  by  a  great  effort  in  get- 
ting hold  of  her  husband's  hand  and  pressing  it  to  hei 
lips.  That  same  evening  she  died. 

Peter  Andreich  kept  his  word.  He  let  his  son  know 
that  out  of  respect  to  his  mother's  last  moments,  and 
for  the  sake  of  the  little  Fedor,  he  gave  him  back  his 

*  Literally  "  thrashed-whilc-damp  noblewoman,";',  e.,  hastily  en- 
nobled. Much  corn  is  thrashed  in  Russia  before  it  has  had  time 
to  get  dry. 

f  A  diminutive  of  Ivan,  somewhat  expressive  of  contempt 
Vanya  is  the  affectionate  form. 


76  Liza. 

blessing,  and  would  keep  Malania  Sergievna  in  his 
house.  A  couple  of  small  rooms  up-stairs  were  accord- 
ingly given  to  Malania,  and  he  presented  her  to  his  most 
important  acquaintances,  the  one-eyed  Brigadier  Sku- 
rekhine  and  his  wife.  He  also  placed  two  maid-sei 
vants  at  her  disposal,  and  a  page  to  run  her  errands. 

After  Marfa  Timofeevna  had  left  her — who  had  con- 
ceived a  perfect  hatred  for  Glafira,  and  had  quarrelled 
with  her  three  times  in  the  course  of  a  single  day — the 
poor  woman  at  first  found  her  position  difficult  and  pain- 
ful. But  after  a  time  she  attained  endurance,  and  grew 
accustomed  to  her  father-in-law.  He,  on  his  part,  grew 
accustomed  to  her,  and  became  fond  of  her,  though  he 
scarcely  ever  spoke  to  her,  although  in  his  caresses 
themselves  a  certain  involuntary  contempt  showed  itself. 
But  it  was  her  sister-in-law  who  made  Malania  suffer  the 
most.  Even  during  her  mother's  lifetime,  Glafira  had 
gradually  succeeded  in  getting  the  entire  management 
of  the  house  into  her  own  hands.  Every  one,  from  her 
father  downwards,  yielded  to  her.  Without  her  permis- 
sion not  even  a  lump  of  sugar  was  to  be  got.  She 
would  have  preferred  to  die  rather  than  to  delegate  her 
authority  to  another  housewife — and  such  a  housewife 
too  !  She  had  been  even  more  irritated  than  Peter  An- 
dreich  by  her  brother's  marriage,  so  she  determined  to 
read  the  upstart  a  good  lesson,  and  from  the  very  first 
Malania  Sergievna  became  her  slave.  And  Malania; 
utterly  without  defence,  weak  in  health,  constantly  a 
prey  to  trouble  and  alarm — how  could  she  have  striven 


Liza.  7  7 

against  the  proud  and  strong-willed  Glafira  ?  Not  a  day- 
passed  without  Glafira  reminding  her  of  her  former  po- 
sition, and  praising  her  for  not  forgetting  herself.  Ma- 
lania  Sergievna.  would  willingly  have  acquiesced  in 
these  reminclings  and  praisings,  however  bitter  they 
might  be — but  her  child  had  been  taken  away  from  her. 
This  drove  her  to  despair.  Under  the  pretext  that  she 
was  not  qualified  to  see  after  his  education,  she  was 
scarcely  ever  allowed  to  go  near  him.  Glafira  under- 
took the  task.  'The  child  passed  entirely  into  her  keep- 
ing. 

In  her  sorrow,  Malania  Sergievna  began  to  implore 
her  husband  in  her  letters  to  return  quickly.  Peter 
Andreich  himself  wished  to  see  his  son,  but  Ivan  Pe- 
trovich  merely  sent  letters  in  reply.  He  thanked  his 
father  for  what  had  been  clone  for  his  wife,  and  for  the 
money  which  had  been  sent  to  himself,  and  he  promised 
to  come  home  soon — but  he  did  not  come. 

At  last  the  year  1812  recalled  him  from  abroad.  On 
seeing  each  other  for  the  first  time  after  a  separation  of 
six  years,  the  father  and  the  son  met  in  a  warm  em- 
brace, and  did  not  say  a  single  word  in  reference  to 
their  former  quarrels.  Nor  was  it  a  time  for  that.  All 
Russia  was  rising  against  the  foe,  and  they  both  felt 
that  Russian  blood  flowed  in  their  veins.  I'eter  An- 
dreich equipped  a  whole  regiment  of  volunteers  at  his 
own  expense.  But  the  war  ended  ;  the  danger  passed 
away.  Ivan  Petrovich  once  more  became  bored,  once 
more  he  was  allured  into  the  distance,  into  that  world 


7  8  Liza. 

in  which  he  had  grown  up,  and  in  which  he  felt  himself 
at  home.  Malania  could  not  hold  him  back  ;  she  was 
valued  at  very  little  in  his  eyes.  Even  what  she  really 
had  hoped  had  not  been  fulfilled.  Like  the  rest,  her 
husband  thought  that  it  was  decidedly  most  expedient 
to  confide  Fedia's  education  to  Glafira.  Ivan's  poor 
wife  could  not  bear  up  against  this  blow,  could  not  en- 
dure this  second  separation.  Without  a  murmur,  at  the 
end  of  a  few  days,  she  quietly  passed  away. 

In  the  course  of  her  whole  life  she  had  never  been 
able  to  resist  any  thing;  and  so  with  her  illness,  also, 
she  did  not  struggle.  When  she  could  no  longer  speak, 
and  the  shadows  of  death  already  lay  on  her  face,  her 
features  still  retained  their  old  expression  of  patient 
perplexity,  of  unruffled  and  submissive  sweetness. 
With  her  usual  silent  humility,  she  gazed  at  Glafira ; 
and  as  Anna  Pavlovna  on  her  death-bed  had  kissed  the 
hand  of  Peter  Andreich,  so  she  pressed  her  lips  to 
Glafira's  hand,  as  she  confided  to  Glafira's  care  her  only 
child.  So  did  this  good  and  quiet  being  end  her  earthly 
career.  Like  a  shrub  torn  from  its  native  soil,  and  the 
next  moment  flung  aside,  its  roots  upturned  to  the  sun, 
she  withered  and  disappeared,  leaving  no  trace  be- 
hind, and  no  one  to  grieve  for  her.  It  is  true  that  her 
maids  regretted  her,  and  so  did  Peter  Andreich.  The 
old  man  missed  her  kindly  face,  her  silent  presence. 
"  Forgive — farewell — my  quiet  one  !  "  he  said,  as  he 
took  leave  of  her  for  the  last  time,  in  the  church.  He 
wept  as  he  threw  a  handful  of  earth  into  her  grave. 


Liza. 


79 


He  did  not  long  survive  her — not  more  than  five 
years.  In  the  winter  of  1819,  he  died  peacefully  in 
Moscow,  whither  he  had  gone  with  Glafira  and  his  grand- 
son. In  his  will  he  desired  to  be  buried  by  the  side  of 
Anna  Pavlovna  and  "  Malasha."  * 

Ivan  Petrovich  was  at  that  time  amusing  himself  in 
Paris,  having  retired  from  the  service  soon  after  the 
year  1815.  On  receivingthe  news  of  his  father's  death, 
he  determined  to  return  to  Russia.  The  organization 
of  his  property  had  to  be  considered.  Besides,  ac- 
cording to  Glafira's  letter,  Fedia  had  finished  his  twelfth 
year ;  and  the  time  had  come  for  taking  serious  thought 
about  his  education. 

*  Diminutive  of  Malania. 


X. 

IVAN  PEIROVICH  returned  to  Russia  an  Anglomaniac. 
Short  hair,  starched  frills,  a  pea-green,  long-skirted 
coat  with  a  number  of  little  collars  ;  a  sour  expression 
of  countenance,  something  trenchant  and  at  the  same 
time  careless  in  his  demeanor,  an  utterance  through  the 
teeth,  an  abrupt  wooden  laugh,  an  absence  of  smile,  a 
habit  of  conversing  only  on  political  or  politico-eco- 
nomical subjects,  a  passion  for  under-done  roast  beef 
and  port  wine — every  thing  in  him  breathed,  so  to 
speak,  of  Great  Britain.  He  seemed  entirely  imbued 
by  its  spirit.  But  strange  to  say,  while  becoming  an 
Anglomaniac,  Ivan  Petrovich  had  also  become  a  pa- 
triot,— at  all  events  he  called  himself  a  patriot, — al- 
though he  knew  very  little  about  Russia,  he  had  not  re- 
tained a  single  Russian  habit,  and  he  expressed  him- 
self in  Russian  oddly.  In  ordinary  talk,  his  language 
was  colorless  and  unwieldy,  and  absolutely  bristled  with 
Gallicisms.  But  the  moment  that  the  conversation 
turned  upon  serious  topics,  Ivan  Petrovich  immediately 
began  to  give  utterance  to  such  expressions  as  "  to 
render  manifest  abnormal  symptoms  of  enthusiasm," 
or  "  this  is  extravagantly  inconsistent  with  the  essen- 
tial nature  of  circumstances,"  and  so  forth.  He  had 


Liza,  8 1 

brought  with  him  some  manuscript  plans,  intended  to 
assist  in  the  organization  and  improvement  of  the  em- 
pire. I<Aor  he  was  greatly  discontented  with  what  he 
saw  taking  place.  It  was  the  absence  of  system  which 
especially  aroused  his  indignation. 

At  his  interview  with  his  sister,  he  informed  her  in 
the  first  words  he  spoke  that  he  meant  to  introduce  rad- 
ical reforms  on  his  property,  and  that  for  the  future  all 
his  affairs  would  be  conducted  on  a  new  system.  Gla- 
fira  made  no  reply,  but  she  clenched  her  teeth  and 
thought,  "  What  is  to  become  of  me  then  ? "  However, 
when  she  had  gone  with  her  brother-  and  her  nephew  to 
the  estate,  her  mind  was  soon  set  at  ease.  It  is  true 
that  a  few  changes  were  made  in  the  house,  and  the 
hangers-on  and  parasites  were  put  to  immediate  flight. 
Among  their  number  suffered  two  old  women,  the  one 
blind,  the  other  paralyzed,  and  also  a  worn-out  major 
of  the  Ochakof  *  days,  who,  on  account  of  his  great 
voracity,  was  fed  upon  nothing  but  black  bread  and 
lentiles.  An  order  was  given  also  not  to  receive  any 
of  the  former  visitors ;  they  were  replaced  by  a  distant 
neighbor,  a  certain  blonde  and  scrofulous  baron,  an  ex- 
ceedingly well  brought-up  and  remarkably  dull  man. 
New  furniture  was  sent  from  Moscow ;  spittoons,  bells, 
and  washhand  basins  were  introduced ;  the  breakfast 
was  served  in  a  novel  fashion;  foreign  wines  replaced 
the  old  national  spirits  and  liquors ;  new  liveries  were 

*  Ochakof  is  a  town  which  was  taken  from  the  Turks  by  the 
Russians  in  1788. 

4* 


8a  Liza. 

given  to  the  servants,  and  to  the  family  coat  of  arms 
was  added  the  motto,  "In  rectv  virtus." 

In  reality,  however,  the  power  of  Glafira  did  not  di- 
minish ;  all  receipts  and  expenditures  were  settled,  as 
before,  by  her.  A  valet,  who  had  been  brought  from 
abroad,  a  native  of  Alsace,  tried  to  compete  with  her, 
and  lost  his  place,  in  spite  of  the  protection  which  his 
master  generally  afforded  him.  In  all  that  related  to 
house-keeping,  and  also  to  the  administration  of  the  es- 
tate (for  with  these  things  too  Glafira  interfered) — in 
spite  of  the  intention  often  expressed  by  Ivan  Petro- 
vich  "  to  breathe  new  life  into  the  chaos," — all  remained 
on  the  old  footing.  Only  the  obrok  *  remained  on  the 
old  footing,  and  the  barshina  \  became  heavier,  and  the 
peasants  were  forbidden  to  go  straight  to  Ivan  Petro- 
vich.  The  patriot  already  despised  his  fellow-citizens 
heartily.  Ivan  Petrovich's  system  was  applied  in  its  full 
development  only  to  Fedia.  The  boy's  education  really 
underwent  "  a  radical  reform."  His  father  undertook 
the  sole  direction  of  it  himself. 

*  What  the  peasant  paid  his  lord  in  money. 
f  What  the  peasant  paid  his  lord  in  labor. 


XI. 

UNTIL  the  return  of  Ivan  Petrovich  from  abroad, 
Feclia  remained,  as  we  have  already  said,  in  the  hands 
of  Glafira  Petrovna.  He  was  not  yet  eight  years  old 
when  his  mother  died.  It  was  not  every  day  that  he 
had  been  allowed  to  see  her,  but  he  had  become  pas- 
sionately attached  to  her.  His  recollections  of  her,  espe- 
cially of  her  pale  and  gentle  face,  her  mournful  eyes,  and 
her  timid  caresses,  were  indelibly  impressed  upon  his 
heart.  It  was  but. vaguely  that  he  understood  her  position 
in  the  house,  but  he  felt  that  between  him  and  her  there 
existed  a  barrier  which  she  dared  not  and  could  not  de- 
stroy. He  felt  shy  of  his  father,  who,  on  his  part,  never 
caressed  him.  His  grandfather  sometimes  smoothed 
his  hair  and  gave  him  his  hand  to  kiss,  but  called  him 
a  savage  and  thought  him  a  fool.  After  Malania's 
death,  his  aunt  took  him  regularly  in  hand.  Feclia 
feared  her,  feared  her  bright  sharp  eyes,  her  cutting 
voice ;  he  never  dared  to  make  the  slightest  noise  in 
her  presence ;  if  by  chance  he  stirred  ever  so  little  on 
his  chair,  she  would  immediately  exclaim  in  her  hissing 
voice,  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  sit  still !  " 

On  Sundays,  after  mass,  he  was  allowed  to  play— 
that  is  to  say,  a  thick  book  was  given  to  him,  a  mysteri 


84  Liza. 

ous  book,  the  work  of  a  certain  Maksimovich-Ambodik; 
bearing  the  title  of  "  Symbols  and  Emblems."  In  this 
book  there  were  to  be  found  about  a  thousand,  for  die 
most  part,  very  puzzling  pictures,  with  equally  puzzling 
explanations  in  five  languages.  Cupid,  represented 
with  a  naked  and  chubby  body,  played  a  great  part  in 
these  pictures.  To  one  of  them,  the  title  of  which  war, 
"  Saffron  and  the  Rainbow,"  was  appended  the  expla- 
nation, "  The  effect  of  this  is  great."  Opposite  an- 
other, which  represented  "  A  Stork,  flying  with  a  violet 
in  its  beak,"  stood  this  motto,  "  To  thee  they  are  all 
known  ;  "  and  "  Cupid,  and  a  bear  licking  its  cub,"  was 
styled  "  Little  by  Little."  Feclia  used  to  pore  over  these 
pictures.  He  was  familiar  with  them  all  even  to  their 
minutest  details.  Some  of  them — it,  was  always  'the' 
same  ones — made  him  reflect,  and  excited  his  imagi- 
nation :  of  other  diversions  he  knew  nothing. 

When  the  time  came  for  teaching  him  languages  and 
music,  Glafira  Petrovna  hired  an  old  maid  for  a  mere 
trifle,  a  Swede,  whose  eyes  looked  sideways,  like  a 
hare's,  who  spoke  French  and  German  more  or  less 
badly,  played  the  piano  so  so,  and  pickled  cucumbers 
to  perfection.  In  the  company  of  this  governess,  of 
his  aunt,  and  of  an  old  servant  maid  called  Vasilievna, 
Fedia  passed  four  whole  years.  Sometimes  he  would 
sit  in  a  corner  with  his  "  Emblems  " — there  he  would  sit 
and  sit.  A  scent  of  geraniums  filled  the  low  room,  one 
tallow  candle  burnt  dimly,  the  cricket  chirped  monoto- 
nously as  if  it  were  bored,  the  little  clock  ticked  busily 


8$ 

on  the  wall,  a.  mouse  scratched  stealthily  and  gnawed 
behind  the  tapestry ;  and  the  three  old  maids,  like  the 
three  Fates,  knitted  away  silently  and  swiftly,  the 
shadows  of  their  hands  now  scampering  along,  now 
mysteriously  quivering  in  the  dusk ;  and  strange,  no 
less  dusky,  thoughts  were  being  born  in  the  child's 
mind. 

No  one  would  have  called  Fedia  an  interesting  child. 
He  was  rather  pale,  but  stout,  badly  built,  and  awk- 
ward— a  regular  moujik,  to  use  the  expression  employed 
by  Glafira  Petrovna.  The  pallor  would  soon  have  van- 
ished from  his  face  if  they  had  let  him  go  out  more  into 
the  fresh  air.  He  learnt  his  lessons  pretty  well,  though 
he  was  often  idle.  He  never  cried,  but  he  sometimes 
evinced  a  savage  obstinacy.  At  those  times  no  one 
could  do  any  thing  with  him.  Fedia  did  not  love  a  sin- 
gle one  of  the  persons  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 
Alas  for  that  heart  which  has  not  loved  in  youth ! 

Such  did  Ivan  Petrovich  find  him  when  he  returned  ; 
and,  without  losing  time  he  at  once  began  to  apply  his 
system  to  him. 

"I  want,  above  all,  to  make  a  man  of  him — un 
homme"  he  said  to  Glafira  Petrovna  "  and  not  only  a 
man,  but  a  Spartan.'-'  This  plan  he  began  to  carry  out 
by  dressing  his  boy  in  Highland  costume.  The  twelve- 
year-old  little  fellow  had  to  go  about  with  bare  legs, 
and  with  a  cock's  feather  in  his  cap.  The  Swedish 
governess  was  replaced  by  a  young  tutor  from  Switzer 
land,  who  was  acquainted  with  all  the  niceties  of  gym 


86  Liza. 

nasties.  Music  was  utterly  forbidden,  as  an  accom 
plishment  unworthy  of  a  man.  Natural  science,  inter- 
national law,  and  mathematics,  as  well  as  carpentry, 
which  was  selected  in  accordance  with  the  advice  of 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau ;  and  heraldry,  which  was  intro- 
duced for  the  maintenance  of  chivalrous  ideas — these 
were  the  subjects  to  which  the  future  "man"  had  to 
give  his  attention.  He  had  to  get  up  at  four  in  the 
morning  and  take  a  cold  bath  immediately,  after  which 
he  had  to  run  round  a  high  pole  at  the  end  of  a  cord. 
He  had  one  meal  a  day,  consisting  of  one  dish ;  he 
rode  on  horseback,  and  he  shot  with  a  cross-bow.  On 
every  fitting  occasion  he  had  to  exercise  himself,  in 
imitation  of  his  father,  in  gaining  strength  of  will ;  and 
every  evening  he  used  to  write,  in  a  book  reserved  for 
that  purpose,  an  account  of  how  he  had  spent  the  day, 
and  what  were  his  ideas  on  the  subject.  Ivan  Petro- 
vich,  on  his  side,  wrote  instructions  for  him  in  French, 
in  which  he  styled  him  mon  fils,  and  addressed  him  as 
vous.  Fedia  used  to  say  "  thou "  to  his  father  in 
Russian,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  sit  down  in  his  pres- 
ence. 

The  "  system  "  muddled  the  boy's  brains,  confused 
his  ideas,  and  cramped  his  mind;  but,  as  far  as  his 
physical  health  was  concerned,  the  new  kind  of  life 
acted  on  him  beneficially.  At  first  he  fell  ill  with  a 
fever,  but  he  soon  recovered  and  became  a  fine  fellow. 
His  father  grew  proud  of  him,  and  styled  him  in  his 
curious  language,  "  the  child  of  nature,  my  creation." 


Liza.  Si 

When  Fedia  reached  the  age  of  sixteen,  Ivan  Petrovich 
considered  it  a  duty  to  inspire  him  in  good  time  with 
contempt  for  the  female  sex — and  so  the  young  Spar- 
tan, with  the  first  down  beginning  to  appear  upon  his 
lips,  timid  in  feeling,  but  with  a  body  full  of  blood,  and 
strength,  and  energy,  already  tried  to  seem  careless, 
and  cold,  and  rough. 

Meanwhile  time  passed  by.  Ivan  Petrovich  spent 
the  greater  part  of  the  year  at  Lavriki — that  was  the 
name  of  his  chief  hereditary  estate ;  but  in  winter  he 
used  to  go  by  himself  to  Moscow,  where  he  put  up  at 
a  hotel,  attended  his  club  assiduously,  aired  his  elo- 
quence freely,  explained  his  plans  in  society,  and  more 
than  ever  gave  himself  out  as  an  Anglomaniac,  a 
grumbler,  and  a  statesman.  But  the  year  1825  came 
and  brought  with  it  much  trouble.*  Ivan  Petrovich's 
intimate  friends  and  acquaintances  underwent  a  heavy 
tribulation.  He  made  haste  to  betake  himself  far  away 
into  the  country,  and  there  he  shut  himself  up  in  his 
house.  Another  year  passed  and  Ivan  Petrovich  sud- 
denly broke  down,  became  feeble,  and  utterly  gave 
way.  His  health  having  deserted  him,  the  freethinker 
began  to  go  to  church,  and  to  order  prayers  to  be  said 
for  him  ;  f  the  European  began  to  steam  himself  in  the 

*  Arising  from  the  conspiracy  of  the  "Decembrists"  and  their 
attempts  at  a  revolution,  on  the  occasion  of  the  death  of  Alexander 
I.,  and  the  accession  of  Nicholas  to  the  throne. 

f  Molebni :  prayers  in  which  the  name  of  the  person  who  has 
paid  for  them  is  mentioned. 


88 


Russian  bath,  to  dine  at  two  o'clock,  to  go  to  bed  a1 
nine,  to  be  talked  to  sleep  by  the  gossip  of  an  old 
house-steward ;  the  statesman  burnt  all  his  plans  and 
all  his  correspondence,  trembled  before  the  governor, 
and  treated  the  Ispravnik  *  with  uneasy  civility ;  the 
mar.  of  iron  will  whimpered  and  complained  whenever 
he  was  troubled  by  a  boil,  or  when  his  soup  had  got 
cold  before  he  was  served  with  it.  Glafira  again  ruled 
supreme  in  the  house  ;  again  did  inspectors,  overseers,! 
and  simple  peasants  begin  to  go  up  the  back  staircase 
to  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  "  old  witch  " — as  she  was 
called  by  the  servants  of  the  house. 

The  change  which  had  taken  place  in  Ivan  Petro- 
vich,  produced  a  strong  impression  on  the  mind  of  his 
son.  He  had  already  entered  on  his  nineteenth  year; 
and  he  had  begun  to  think  for  himself,  and  to  shake 
off  the  weight  of  the  hand  which  had  been  pressing 
him  down.  Even  before  this  he  had  remarked  how 
different  were  his  father's  deeds  from  his  words ;  the 
wide  and  liberal  theories  he  professed  from  the  hard 
and  narrow  despotism  he  practiced ;  but  he  had  not 
expected  so  abrupt  a  transformation.  In  his  old  age 
the  egotist  revealed  himself  in  his  full  nature.  The 
young  Lavretsky  was  just  getting  ready  to  go  to  Mos- 
cow, with  a  view  to  preparing  himself  for  the  university, 

*  Inspector  of  rural  police. 

f  Prikashchiki  and  Bnrmistrni:  two  classes  of  overseers,  the 
former  dealing  with  economical  matters  only,  the  latter  having  tc 
do  with  the  administrative  department  also. 


Liza.  85 

when  a  new  and  unexpected  misfortune  fell  on  the 
head  of  Ivan  Petrovich.  In  the  course  of  a  single  day 
the  old  man  became  blind,  hopelessly  blind. 

Distrusting  the  skill  of  Russian  medical  men,  he 
did  all  he  could  to  get  permission  to  travel  abroad.  It 
was  refused.  Then,  taking  his  son  with  him,  he  wan- 
dered about  Russia  for  three  whole  years,  trying  one 
doctor  after  another,  incessantly  journeying  from  place 
to  place,  and,  by  his  impatient  fretfulness,  driving  his 
doctors,  his  son,  and  his  servants  to  the  verge  of  de- 
spair. Utterly  used  up,*  he  returned  to  Lavriki  a 
weeping  and  capricious  infant.  Days  of  bitterness 
ensued,  in  which  all  suffered  at  his  hands.  He  was 
quiet  only  while  he  was  feeding.  Never  had  he  eaten 
so  much,  nor  so  greedily.  At  all  other  moments  he 
allowed  neither  himself  nor  any  one  else  to  be  at 
peace.  He  prayed,  grumbled  at  fate,  found  fault  with 
himself,  with  his  system,  with  politics,  with  all  which 
he  used  to  boast  of,  with  all  that  he  had  ever  set  up  as 
a  model  for  his  son.  He  would  declare  that  he  believed 
in  nothing,  and  then  he  would  betake  himself  again  to 
prayer ;  he  could  not  bear  a  single  moment  of  solitude, 
and  he  compelled  his  servants  constantly  to  sit  near 
his  bed  day  and  night,  and  to  entertain  him  with  stories^ 
which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  interrupting  by  exclama 
tions  of,  "  YouVe  all  telling  lies ! "  or,  "  What  utter 
nonsense  ! " 

Glafira   Petrovna  had  the  largest  share  in  all  the 

*  Literally,  "  a  regular  rag.'' 


QO  Liza. 

trouble  he  gave.  He  was  absolutely  unable  to  do  with 
out  her ;  and  until  the  very  end  she  fulfilled  all  the  in- 
valid's caprices,  though  sometimes  she  was  unable  to 
reply  immediately  to  what  he  said,  for  fear  the  tone  of 
her  voice  should  betray  the  anger  which  was  almost 
choking  her.  So  he  creaked  on  for  two  years  more,  and 
at  length  one  day  in  the  beginning  of  the  month  of 
May,  he  died.  He  had  been  carried  out  to  the  balcony, 
and  placed  there  in  the  sun.  "  Glasha !  Glashka  ! 
broth,  broth,  you  old  idi — ,"  lisped  his  stammering 
tongue  ;  and  then,  without  completing  the  last  word,  it 
became  silent  forever.  Glafira,  who  had  just  snatched 
the  cup  of  broth  from  the  hands  of  the  major-domo, 
stopped  short,  looked  her  brother  in  the  face,  very  slow- 
ly crossed  herself,  and  went  silently  away.  And  his  son, 
who  happened  also  to  be  on  the  spot,  did  not  say  a 
word  either,  but  bent  over  the  railing  of  the  balcony, 
and  gazed  for  a  long  time  into  the  garden,  all  green  and 
fragrant,  all  sparkling  in  the  golden  sunlight  of  spring. 
He  was  twenty-three  years  old  ;  how  sadly,  how  swiftly 
had  those  years  passed  by  unmarked !  Life  opened 
out  before  him  now. 


XII. 

AFTER  his  father's  burial,  having  confided  to  the 
never-changing  Glafira  Petrovna  the  administration  of 
his  household,  and  the  supervision  of  his  agents,  the 
young  Lavretsky  set  out  for  Moscow,  whither  a  vague 
but  powerful  longing  attracted  him.  He  knew  in  what 
his  education  had  been  defective,  and  he  was  deter- 
mined to  supply  its  deficiencies  as  far  as  possible.  In 
the  course  of  the  last  five  years  he  had  read  much,  and 
he  had  see  a  good  deal  with  his  own  eyes.  Many  ideas 
had  passed  through  his  mind,  many  a  professor  might 
have  envied  him  some  of  his  knowledge  ;  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  he  was  entirely  ignorant  of  much  that  had 
long  been  familiar  to  every  school-boy.  Lavretsky  felt 
that  he  was  not  at  his  ease  among  his  fellow-men  ;  he 
had  a  secret  inkling  that  he  was  an  exceptional  charac- 
ter. The  Anglomaniac  had  played  his  son  a  cruel 
trick ;  his  capricious  education  had  borne  its  fruit.  For 
many  years  he  had  implicitly  obeyed  his  father ;  and 
when  at  last  he  had  learned  to  value  him  aright,  the  ef- 
fects of  his  father's  teaching  were  already  produced. 
Certain  habits  had  become  rooted  in  him.  He  did  not 
know  how  to  comport  himself  towards  his  fellow-men  ; 
at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  with  an  eager  longing  after 


92  Liza. 

love  in  his  bashful  heart,  he  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  a 
woman  in  the  face.  With  his  clear  and  logical,  but 
rather  sluggish  intellect,  with  his  stubbornness,  and  his 
tendency  towards  inactivity  and  contemplation,  he 
ought  to  have  been  flung  at  an  early  age  into  the  whirl 
of  life,  instead  of  which  he  had  been  deliberately  kept 
in  seclusion.  And  now  the  magic  circle  was  broken, 
but  he  remained  standing  on  the  same  spot,  cramped 
in  mind  and  self-absorbed. 

At  his  age  it  seemed  a  little  ridiculous  to  put  on  the 
uniform  of  a  student,*  but  he  did  not  fear  ridicule.  His 
Spartan  education  had  at  all  events  been  so  far  useful, 
inasmuch  as  it  had  developed  in  him  a  contempt  for  the 
world's  gossiping.  So  he  donned  a  student's  uniform 
without  being  disconcerted,  enrolling  himself  in  the  fac- 
ulty of  physical  and  mathematical  science.  His  robust 
figure,  his  ruddy  face,  his  sprouting  beard,  his  taciturn 
manner,  produced  a  singular  impression  on  his  corn 
rades.  They  never  suspected  that  under  the  rough  ex- 
terior of  this  man,  who  attended  the  lectures  so  regu- 
larly, driving  up  in  a  capacious  rustic  sledge,  drawn  by 
a  couple  of  horses,  something  almost  childlike  was  con- 
cealed. They  thought  him  an  eccentric  sort  of  pedant, 
and  they  made  no  advances  towards  him,  being  able  to 
do  very  well  without  him.  And  he,  for  his  part,  avoided 
them.  During  the  first  two  years  he  passed  at  the  uni- 
versity, he  became  intimate  with  no  one  except  the 

*  The  students  at  the  Russian  universities  used  to  wear  a  uni- 
form, but  they  no  longer  do  so. 


Liza.  93 

student  from  whom  she  took  lessons  in  Latin.  This  stu- 
dent, whose  name  was  Mikhalevich,  an  enthusiast,  and 
somewhat  of  a  poet,  grew  warmly  attached  to  Lavretsky, 
and  quite  accidentally  became  the  cause  of  a  serious 
change  in  his  fortunes. 

One  evening,  when  Lavretsky  was  at  the  theatre — 
he  never  missed  a  single  representation,  for  Mochalof 
was  then  at  the  summit  of  his  glory — he  caught  sight 
of  a  young  girl  in  a  box  on  the  first  tier.  Never  before 
had  his  heart  beaten  so  fast,  though  at  that  time  no 
woman  ever  passed  before  his  stern  eyes  without  send- 
ing its  pulses  flying.  Leaning  on  the  velvet  border  of 
the  box,  the  girl  sat  very  still.  Youthful  animation 
lighted  up  every  feature  of  her  beautiful  face ;  artistic 
feeling  shone  in  her  lovely  eyes,  which  looked  out  with 
a  soft,  attentive  gaze  from  underneath  delicately  pen- 
cilled eyebrows,  in  the  quick  smile  of  her  expressive 
lips,  in  the  bearing  of  her  head,  her  arms,  her  neck. 
As  to  her  dress,  it  was  exquisite.  By  her  side  sat  a  sal- 
low, wrinkled  woman  of  five-and-forty,  wearing  a  low 
dress  and  a  black  cap,  with  an  unmeaning  smile  on  her 
vacant  face,  to  which  she  strove  to  give  an  aspect  of 
attention.  In  the  background  of  the  box  appeared  an 
elderly  man  in  a  roomy  coat,  and  with  a  high  cravat. 
His  small  eyes  had  an  expression  of  stupid  conceit, 
modified  by  a  kind  of  cringing  suspicion ;  his  mus- 
tache and  whiskers  were  dyed,  he  had  an  immense 
meaningless  forehead,  and  flabby  cheeks  :  his  whole  ap- 
pearance was  that  of  a  retired  general. 


94  Liza. 

Lavretsky  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  girl  who  had 
made  such  an  impression  on  him.  Suddenly  the  dooi 
of  the  box  opened,  and  Mikhalevich  entered.  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  man  who  was  almost  his  only  acquaint- 
ance in  all  Moscow — his  appearance  in  the  company 
of  the  very  girl  who  had  absorbed  his  whole  attention, 
seemed  to  Lavretsky  strange  and  significant.  As  he 
continued  looking  at  the  box,  he  remarked  that  all  its 
occupants  treated  Mikhalevich  like  an  old  friend.  Lav- 
retsky lost  all  interest  in  what  was  going  on  upon  the 
stage ;  even  Mochalof,  although  he  was  that  evening 
''in  the  vein,"  did  not  produce  his  wonted  impression 
upon  him.  During  one  very  pathetic  passage,  Lavret- 
sky looked  almost  involuntarily  at  the  object  of  his  ad- 
miration. She  was  leaning  forward,  a  red  glow  color- 
ing her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  stage, 
but  gradually,  under  the  influence  of  his  fixed  look, 
they  turned  and  rested  on  him.  All  night  long  those 
eyes  haunted  him.  At  last,  the  carefully  constructed 
dam  was  broken  through.  He  shivered  and  he  burnt 
by  turns,  and  the  very  next  day  he  went  to  see  Mik- 
halevich. From  him  he  learned  that  the  name  of  the 
girl  he  admired  so  much  was  Varvara  Pavlovna  Koro- 
bine,  that  the  elderly  people  who  were  with  her  in  the 
box  were  her  father  and  her  mother,  and  that  Mikhal- 
evich had  become  acquainted  with  them  the  year  be- 
fore, during  the  period  of  his  stay  as  tutor  in  Count 
N.'s  family,  near  Moscow.  The  enthusiast  sr.  oke  of 
Varvara  Pavlovna  in-  the  most  eulogistic  terms.  "  This 


Liza.  95 

girl,  my  brother,"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  peculiar,  jerking 
kind  of  sing-song,  "  is  an  exceptional  being,  one  en- 
dowed with  genius,  an  artist  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word,  and  besides  all  that,  such  an  amiable  creature." 
Perceiving  from  Lavretsky's  questions  how  great  an 
impression  Varvara  Pavlovna  had  made  upon  him,  Mik- 
halevich,  of  his  own  accord,  proposed  to  make  him  ac- 
quainted with  her,  adding  that  he  was  on  the  most 
familiar  terms  with  them,  that  the  general  was  not  in 
the  least  haughty,  and  that  the  mother  was  as  unintel- 
lectual  as  she  well  could  be. 

Lavretsky  blushed,  muttered  something  vague,  and 
took  himself  off.  For  five  whole  days  he  fought  against 
his  timidity ;  on  the  sixth,  the  young  Spartan  donned  an 
entirely  new  uniform,  and  placed  himself  at  the  dispo- 
sal of  Mikhalevich,  who,  as  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
family,  contented  himself  with  setting  his  hair  straight — 
and  the  two  companions  set  off  together  to  visit  the 
Karobines. 


XIII. 

VARVARA  PAVLOVNA'S  father,  Pavel  Petrovich  Ko- 
robine,  a  retired  major-general,  had  been  on  duty  at 
St.  Petersburg  during  almost  the  whole  of  his  life.  In 
his  early  years  he  had  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being 
an  able  dancer  and  driller;  but  as  he  was  very  poor  he 
had  to  act  as  aide-de-camp  to  two  or  three  generals  of 
small  renown  in  succession,  one  of  whom  gave  him  his 
daughter  in  marriage,  together  with  a  dowry  of  25,000 
roubles.  Having  made  himself  master  of  all  the  sci- 
ence of  regulations  and  parades,  even  to  their  sub- 
tlest details,  he  "went  on  stretching  the  girth"  until 
at  last,  after  twenty  years  service,  he  became  a  gen- 
eral, and  obtained  a  regiment.  At  that  point  he  might 
have  reposed,  and  have  quietly  consolidated  his  fortune. 
He  had  indeed  counted  upon  doing  so,  but  he  man- 
aged his  affairs  rather  imprudently.  It  seems  he  had 
discovered  a  new  method  of  speculating  with  the  public 
money.  The  method  turned  out  an  excellent  one,  but 
he  must  needs  practise  quite  unreasonable  economy,*  so 
information  was  laid  against  him,  and  a  more  than  disa- 
greeable, a  ruinous  scandal  ensued.  Some  how  or 
other  the  general  managed  to  get  clear  of  the  affair; 
but  his  career  was  stopped,  and  he  was  recommended 

*  Tn  other  words,  he  stole,  but  he  neglected  to  bribe. 


Liza.  97 

to  retire  from  active  service.  For  about  a  couple  of 
years  he  lingered  on  at  St.  Petersburg,  in  hopes  that  a 
snug  civil  appointment  might  fall  to  his  lot ;  but  no  such 
appointment  did  fall  to  his  lot.  His  daughter  finished 
her  education  at  the  Institute  ;  his  expenses  increased 
day  by  clay.  So  he  determined,  with  suppressed  indig- 
nation, to  go  to  Moscow  for  economy's  sake  ;  and  there, 
in  the  Old  Stable  Street,  he  hired  a  little  house  with  an 
escutcheon  seven  feet  high  on  the  roof,  and  began  to 
live  as  retired  generals  do  in  Moscow  on  an  income  of 
2,700  roubles  a  year.  * 

Moscow  is  an  hospitable  city,  and  ready  to  welcome 
any  one  who  appears  there,  especially  if  he  is  a  retired 
general.  Pavel  Petrovich's  form,  which,  though  heavy, 
was  not  devoid  of  martial  bearing,  began  to  appear  in 
the  drawing-rooms  frequented  by  the  best  society  of 
Moscow.  The  back  of  his  head,  bald,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  tufts  of  dyed  hair,  and  the  stained  ribbon 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Anne,  which  he  wore  over  a  stock 
of  the  color  of  a  raven's  wing,  became  familiar  to  all 
the  young  men  of  pale  and  wearied  aspect,  who  were 
wont  to  saunter  moodily  around  the  card  tables  while  a 
dance  was  going  on. 

Pavel  Petrovich  understood  how  to  hold  his  own  in 
society.  He  said  little,  but  always,  as  of  old,  spoke 
through  the  nose — except,  of  course,  when  he  was  talk- 

*  Nearly  £400,  the  roubles  being  "silver"  ones.  The  differ- 
ence  in  value  between  "  silver  "  and  "  paper "  roubles  exists  nc 
longer. 


98  Liza. 

.ng  to  people  of  superior  rank.  He  played  at  cards 
prudently,  and  when  he  was  at  home  he  ate  with  mode- 
ration. At  a  party  he  seemed  to  be  feeding  for  six. 
Of  his  wife  scarcely  anything  more  can  be  said  than 
that  her  name  was  Calliope  Carlovna — that  a  tear  al- 
ways stood  in  her  left  eye,  on  the  strength  of  which 
Calliope  Carlovna,  who  to  be  sure  was  of  German  ex- 
traction, considered  herself  a  woman  of  feeling — that 
she  always  seemed  frightened  about  something — that 
she  looked  as  if  she  never  had  enough  to  eat — and 
that  she  always  wore  a  tight  velvet  dress,  a  cap,  and 
bracelets  of  thin,  dull  metal. 

As  to  Varvara  Pavlovna,  the  general's  only  daugh- 
ter, she  was  but  seventeen  years  old  when  she  left  the 
Institute  in  which  she  had  been  educated.  While 
within  its  walls  she  was  considered,  if  not  the  most 
beautiful,  at  all  events  the  most  intelligent  of  the  pupils, 
and  the  best  musician,  and  before  leaving  it  she  obtained 
the  Cipher.  *  She  was  not  yet  nineteen  when  Lavret- 
sky  saw  her  for  the  first  time. 

*The  initial  letter  of  the  name  of  the  Empress,  worn  as  a  kind 
of  decoration  by  the  best  pupils  in  the  Imperial  Institutes. 


XIV. 

THE  Spartan's  legs  trembled  when  Mikhalevich  led 
him  into  the  Korobines'  not  over-well  furnished  draw- 
ing-room, and  introduced  him  to  its  occupants.  But 
he  overcame  his  timidity,  and  soon  disappeared.  In 
General  Korobine  that  kindliness  which  is  common  to 
all  Russians,  was  enhanced  by  the  special  affability 
which  is  peculiar  to  all  persons  whose  fair  fame  has 
been  a  little  soiled.  As  for  the  General's  wife,  she  soon 
became  as  it  were  ignored  by  the  whole  party.  But 
Varvara  Pavlona  was  so  calmly,  so  composedly  gra- 
cious, that  no  one  could  be,  even  for  a  moment,  in  her 
presence  without  feeling  himself  at  his  ease.  And  at 
the  same  time  from  all  her  charming  form,  from  her 
smiling  eyes,  from  her  faultlessly  sloping  shoulders, 
from  the  rose-tinged  whiteness  of  her  hands,  from  her 
elastic,  but  at  the  same  time  as  it  were,  irresolute  gait, 
from  the  very  sound  of  her  sweet  and  languorous  voice 
— there  breathed,  like  a  delicate  perfume,  a  subtle  and 
incomprehensible  charm  —  something  which  was  at 
once  tender  and  voluptuous  and  modest — something 
which  it  was  difficult  to  express  in  words,  which  stirred 
the  imagination  and  disturbed  the  mind,  but  disturbed 
it  with  sensations  which  were  not  akin  to  timidity. 


ioo  Liza. 

Lavretsky  introduced  the  subject  of  the  theatre  and 
the  preceding  night's  performance  ;  she  immediately 
began  to  talk  about  Mochalof  of  her  own  accord,  and 
did  *iot  confine  herself  to  mere  sighs  and  exclamations, 
but  pronounced  several  criticisms  on  his  acting,  which 
were  as  remarkable  for  sound  judgment  as  for  woman- 
ly penetration.  Mikhalevich  mentioned  music  ;  she  sat 
down  to  the  piano  without  affectation,  and  played  with 
precision  several  of  Chopin's  mazurkas,  which  were 
then  only  just  coming  into  fashion.  Dinnertime  came. 
Lavretsky  would  have  gone  away,  but  they  made  him 
stop,  and  the  General  treated  him  at  table  with  excel- 
lent Lafitte,  which  the  footman  had  been  hurriedly  sent 
out  to  buy  at  Depre's. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  Lavretsky  returned 
home  ;  and  then  he  sat  for  a  long  time  without  undress- 
ing, covering  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  and  yielding  to  the 
torpor  of  enchantment.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
not  till  now  understood  what  makes  life  worth  having. 
All  his  resolutions  and  intentions,  all  the  now  valueless 
ideas  of  other  days,  had  disappeared  in  a  moment. 
His  whole  soul  melted  within  him  into  one  feeling,  one 
desire  ;  into  the  desire  of  happiness,  of  possession,  of 
love,  of  the  sweetness  of  a  woman's  love. 

From  that  day  he  began  to  visit  the  Korobines  fre- 
quently. After  six  months  had  passed,  he  proposed  to 
Varvara  Pavlovna,  and  his  offer  was  accepted.  Long, 
long  before,  even  if  it  was  not  the  night  before  Lavret- 
sky's  first  visit,  the  GeneraHiad  asked  Mikhalevich  how 


Liza.  10 1 

many  serfs*  his  friend  had.  Even  Varvara  Pavlona, 
who  had  preserved  her  wonted  composure  and  equa- 
nimity during  the  whole  period  of  her  young  admirer's 
courtship,  and  even  at  the  very  moment  of  his  declara- 
tion— even  Varvara  Pavlovna  knew  perfectly  well  that 
her  betrothed  was  rich.  And  Calliope  Carlovna  thought 
to  herself,  "  Meine  Tochter  macht  einc  schone  Partti  "  4-— 
and  bought  herself  a  new  cap. 

*  Literally,  "  souls,"  /.  e.,  male  peasants. 

f  My  daughter  is  going  to  make  a  capital  match. 


XV. 

AND  so  his  offer  was  accepted,  but  under  certain 
conditions.  In  the  first  place,  Lavretsky  must  imme- 
diately leave  the  university.  Who  could  think  of  mar- 
rying a  student  ?  And  what  an  extraordinary  idea,  a 
landed  proprietor,  a  rich  man,  at  twenty-six  years  of 
age,  to  be  taking  lessons  like  a  schoolboy  !  In  the  sec- 
ond place,  Varvara  Pavlovna  was  to  take  upon  herself 
the  trouble  of  ordering  and  buying  her  trousseau.  She 
even  chose  the  presents  the  bridegroom  was  to  give. 
She  had  very  good  taste,  and  a  great  deal  of  common 
sense,  and  she  possessed  a  great  liking  for  comfort, 
and  no  small  skill  in  getting  herself  that  comfort.  La- 
vretsky was  particularly  struck  by  this  talent  when, 
immediately  after  the  wedding,  he  and  his  wife  set  off 
for  Lavriki,  travelling  in  a  convenient  carriage  which 
she  had  chosen  herself.  How  carefully  all  their  sur- 
roundings had  been  meditated  over  by  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna! what  prescience  she  had  shown  in  providing 
them !  What  charming  travelling  contrivances  made 
their  appearance  in  the  various  convenient  corners ! 
what  delicious  toilet  boxes !  what  excellent  coffee  ma- 
chines !  and  how  gracefully  did  Varvara  Pavlovna  her- 
self make  the  coffee  in  the  morning!  But  it  must  be 


Liza.  103 

confessed  that  Lavretsky  was  little  fitted  for  critical 
observation  just  then.  He  revelled  in  his  happiness, 
he  was  intoxicated  by  his  good  fortune,  he  abandoned 
himself  to  it  like  a  child — he  was,  indeed,  as  innocent 
as  a  child,  this  young  Hercules.  Not  in  vain  did  a 
charmed  influence  attach  itself  to  the  whole  presence 
of  his  young  wife ;  not  in  vain  did  she  promise  to  the 
imagination  a  secret  treasure  of  unknown  delights. 
She  was  even  better  than  her  promise. 

When  she  arrived  at  Lavriki,  which  was  in  the  very 
hottest  part  of  the  summer,  the  house  seemed  to  her 
sombre  and  in  bad  order,  the  servants  antiquated  and 
ridiculous ;  but  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  say  a 
word  about  this  to  her  husband.  If  she  had  intended 
to  settle  at  Lavriki,  she  would  have  altered  every  thing 
there,  beginning  of  course  with  the  house  ;  but  the  idea 
of  staying  in  that  out-of-the-way  corner  never,  even  for 
an  instant,  came  into.her  mind.  She  merely  lodged  in 
it,  as  she  would  have  done  in  a  tent,  putting  up  with  all 
its  discomforts  in  the  sweetest  manner,  and  laughing  at 
them  pleasantly. 

When  Marfa  Timofeevna  came  to  see  her  old  pupil, 
she  produced  a  favorable  impression  on  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna.  But  Varvara  was  not  at  all  to  the  old  lady's 
liking.  Nor  did  the  young  mistress  of  the  house  get 
on  comfortably  with  Glafira  Petrovna.  She  herself 
would  have  been  content  to  leave  Glafira  in  peace,  but 
the  general  was  anxious  to  get  his  hand  into  the  man- 
agement of  his  son-in-law's  affairs.  To  see  after  the 


IG>4  Liza. 

property  of  so  near  a  relative,  he  said,  was  an  occupy 
tion  that  even  a  general  might  adopt  without  disgrace. 
It  is  possible  that  Pavel  Petrovich  would  not  have  dis- 
dained to  occupy  himself  with  the  affairs  of  even  an 
utter  stranger. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  carried  out  her  plan  of  attack 
very  skillfully.  Although  never  putting  herself  for- 
ward, but  being  to  all  appearance  thoroughly  immersed 
in  the  bliss  of  the  honeymoon,  in  the  quiet  life  of  the 
country,  in  music,  and  in  books,  she  little  by  little  worked 
upon  Glafira,  until  that  lady,  one  morning,  burst  into 
Lavretsky's  study  like  a  maniac,  flung  her  bunch  of 
keys  on  the  table,  and  announced  that  she  could  n« 
longer  look  after  the  affairs  of  the  household,  and  that 
she  did  not  wish  to  remain  on  the  estate.  As  Lavret- 
sky  had  been  fitly  prepared  for  the  scene,  he  immedi- 
ately gave  his  consent  to  her  departure.  This  Glafira 
Petrovna  had  not  expected.  "  Good,"  she  said,  and 
her  brow  grew  dark.  "  I  see  that  I  am  not  wanted  here. 
I  know  that  I  am  expelled  hence,  driven  away  from  the 
family  nest.  But,  nephew,  remember  my  words — no- 
where will  you  be  able  to  build  you  a  nest ;  your  lot  will 
be  to  wander  about  without  ceasing.  There  is  my  part- 
ing legacy  to  you."  That  same  day  she  went  off  to  het 
own  little  pioperty  :  a  week  later  General  Korobine  ar- 
rived, and,  with  a  pleasantly  subdued  air,  took  the 
whole  management  of  the  estate  into  his  own  hands. 

In  September  Varvara  Pavlovna  carried  off  her  hus- 
band to  St.  Petersburg.  There  the  young  couple  spent 


Liza.  105 

two  winters  —  migrating  in  the  summer  to  Tsarskoc 
Selo.  They  lived  in  handsome,  bright,  admirably- 
furnished  apartments  ;  they  made  numerous  acquaint- 
ances in  the  upper  and  even  the  highest  circles  of 
society ;  they  went  out  a  great  deal  and  received 
frequently,  giving  very  charming  musical  parties  and 
dances.  Varvara  Pavlovna  attracted  visitors  as  a  light 
does  moths. 

Such  a  distracting  life  did  not  greatly  please  Fedor 
Ivanich.  His  wife  wanted  him  to  enter  the  service ; 
but,  partly  in  deference  to  his  father's  memory,  partly 
in  accordance  with  his  own  ideas,  he  would  not  do  so, 
though  he  remained  in  St.  Petersburg  to  please  his  wife. 
However,  he  soon  found  out  that  no  one  objected  to  his 
isolating  himself,  that  it  was  notVithout  an  object  that 
his  study  had  been  made  the  quietest  and  the  most  com- 
fortable in  the  whole  city,  that  his  attentive  wife  was 
ever  ready  to  encourage  htm  in  isolating  himself;  and 
from  that  time  all  went  well.  He  again  began  to  oc- 
cupy himself  with  his  as  yet,  as  he  thought,  unfinished 
education.  He  entered  upon  a  new  course  of  reading; 
he  even  began  the  study  of  English.  It  was  curious 
to  see  his  powerful,  broad-shouldered  figure  constantly 
bending  over  his  writing-table,  his  full,  ruddy,  bearded 
face,  half-hidden  by  the  leaves  of  a  dictionary  or  a 
copy-book.  His  mornings  were  always  spent  over  his 
work ;  later  in  the  day  he  sat  down  to  an  excellent  din- 
ner — for  Varvara  Pavlovna  always  managed  her  house- 
hold affairs  admirably  ;  and  in  the  evening  he -entered 
5* 


io6  Liza 

an  enchanted,  perfumed,  brilliant  world,  all  peopled  by 
young  and  joyous  beings,  the  central  point  of  their 
world  being  that  extremely  attentive  manager  of  the 
household,  his  wife. 

She  made  him  happy  with  a  son  ;  but  the  poor  child 
did  not  live  long.  It  died  in  the  spring ;  and  in  the  sum- 
mer, in  accordance  with  the  advice  of  the  doctors, 
Lavretsky  and  his  wife  went  the  round,  of  the  foreign 
watering  -  places.  Distraction  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  her  after  such  a  misfortune ;  and,  besides, 
her  health  demanded  a  warmer  climate.  That  sum- 
mer and  autumn  they  spent  in  Germany  and  Switzer- 
land; and  in  the  winter,  as  might  be  expected,  they 
went  to  Paris. 

In  Paris  Varvara*Pavlovna  bloomed  like  a  rose  ; 
and  there,  just  as  quickly  and  as  skilfully  as  she  had 
done  in  St.  Petersburg,  she  learnt  how  to  build  herself 
a  snug  little  nest.  She  procured  a  very  pretty  set  of 
apartments  in  one  of  the  quiet  but  fashionable  streets , 
she  made  her  husband  such  a  dressing-gown  as  he  had 
never  worn  before  ;  she  secured  an  elegant  lady's  maid, 
an  excellent  cook,  and  an  energetic  footman;  and  she 
provided  herself  with  an  exquisite  carriage,  and  a 
charming  cabinet  piano.  Before  a  week  was  over  she 
could  already  cross  a  street,  put  on  a  shawl,  open  a  par- 
asol, and  wear  gloves,  as  well  as  the  most  pure-blooded 
of  Parisian  women. 

She  soon  made  acquaintances  also.  At  first  only 
Russians  used  to  come  to  her  house  ;  then  Frenchmen 


Liza.  107 

began  to  show  themselves — amiable  bachelors,  of  pol 
ished  manners,  exquisite  in  demeanor,  and  bearing 
high-sounding  names.  They  all  talked  a  great  deal  and 
very  fast,  they  bowed  gracefully,  their  eyes  twinkled 
pleasantly.  All  of  them  possessed  teeth  which  gleamed 
white  between  rosy  lips ;  and  how  beautifully  they 
smiled !  Each  of  them  brought  his  friends ;  and  be- 
fore long  La  belle  Madame  de  Lavretski  became  well 
known  from  the  Chausee  d'  Antin  to  the  Rue  de  Lille. 
At  that  time — it  was  in  1836 — the  race  of  feuilletonists 
and  journalists,  which  now  swarms  everywhere,  numer- 
ous as  the  ants  one  sees  when  a  hole  is  made  in  an  ant- 
hill, had  not  yet  succeeded  in  multiplying  in  numbers. 
Still,  there  used  to  appear  in  Varvara  Pavlovna's  draw- 
ing-room a  certain  M.  Jules,  a  gentleman  who  bore 
a  very  bad  character,  whose  appearance  was  unprepos- 
sessing, and  whose  manner  was  at  once  insolent  and 
cringing — like  that  of  all  duellists  and  people  who  have 
been  horsewhipped.  Varvara  disliked  this  M.  Jules 
very  much ;  but  she  received  him  because  he  wrote  in 
several  newspapers,  and  used  to  be  constantly  mention- 
ing her,  calling  her  sometimes  Madame  de  L  .  .  .  tski, 
sometimes  Madame  de  *  *  *,  cette  grande  dame  Russe 

si  distinguee,  qui  dcmeure  rue  de  P ,  and  describing 

to  the  whole  world,  that  is  to  say  to  some  few  hun- 
dreds of  subscribers,  who  had  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  Madame  de  L  .  .  .  tski,  how  loveable  and 
charming  was  that  lady,  une  vraie  francaise  par  F  esprit  ^ 
— the  French  have  no  higher  praise  than  this, — what 


io8  Liza. 

an  extraordinary  musician  she  was,  and  how  wonder 
fully  she  waltzed.  (Varvara  Pavlovna  did  really  waltz 
so  as  to  allure  all  hearts  to  the  skirt  of  her  light,  float- 
ing robe.)  In  fact,  he  spread  her  fame  abroad  through- 
out the  world  ;  and  this  we  know,  whatever  people  may 
say,  is  pleasant. 

Mademoiselle  Mars  had  by  that  time  quitted  the 
stage,  and  Mademoiselle  Rachel  had  not  yet  appeared 
there ;  but  for  all  that  Varvara  Pavlovna  none  the  less 
assiduously  attended  the  theatres.  She  went  into  rap- 
tures about  Italian  music,  and  laughed  over  the  ruins 
of  Odry,  yawned  in'  a  becoming  manner  at  the  legiti- 
mate drama,  and  cried  at  the  sight  of  Madame  Dorval's 
acting  in  some  ultra-melodramatic  piece.  Above  all, 
Liszt  played  at  her  house  twice,  and  was  so  gracious,  so 
unaffected  !  It  was  charming ! 

Amid  such  pleasurable  sensations  passed  the  win- 
ter, at  the  end  of  which  Varvara  Pavlovna  was  even 
presented  at  Court.  As  for  Fedor  Ivanovich,  he  was 
not  exactly  bored,  but  life  began  to  weigh  heavily  on 
his  shoulders  at  times — heavily  because  of  its  very 
emptiness.  He  read  the  papers,  he  listened  to  the  lec- 
tures at  the  Sorbonne  and  the  College  de  France,  he  fol- 
lowed the  debates  in  the  Chambers,  he  occupied  him- 
self in  translating  a  famous  scientific  work  on  irrigation. 
"  I  am  not  wasting  my  time,"  he  thought ;  "  all  this  is 
of  use ;  but  next  winter  I  really  must  return  to  Russia, 
and  betake  myself  to  active  business."  It  would  be 
hard  to  say  if  he  had  any  clear  idea  of  what  were  the, 


Liza.  109 

special  characteristics  of  that  business,  and  only  Heaven 
could  tell  whether  he  was  likely  to  succeed  in  getting 
back  to  Russia  in  the  winter.  In  the  meanwhile  he 
was  intending  to  go  with  his  wife  to  Baden.  But  an  un- 
expected occurrence  upset  all  his  plans 


XVI. 

ONE  day  when  he  happened  to  go  into  Varvara 
Pavlovna's  boudoir  during  her  absence,  Lavretsky  saw 
a  carefully  folded  little  piece  of  paper  lying  on  the 
floor.  Half  mechanically  he  picked  it  up  and  opened 
it — and  read  the  following  lines  written  in  French  : — 

"  MY  DEAR  ANGEL  BETTY. 

"  (I  really  cannot  make  up  my  mind  to  call  you 
Barbe  or  Varvara).  I  have  waited  in  vain  for  you  at 
the  corner  of  the  Boulevard.  Come  to  our  rooms  to- 
morrow at  half-past  one.  That  excellent  husband  of 
yours  is  generally  absorbed  in  his  books  at  that  time — 
we  will  sing  over  again  that  song  of  your  poet  Pushkin 
which  you  taught  me,  '  Old  husband,  cruel  husband ! ' 
A  thousand  kisses  to  your  dear  little  hands  and  feet.  I 
await  you.  "  ERNEST." 

At  first  Lavretsky  did  not  comprehend  the  meaning 
of  what  he  had  read.  He  read  it  a  second  time — an  J 
his  head  swam,  and  the  ground  swayed  beneath  his  feet 
like  the  deck  of  a  ship  in  a  storm,  and  a  half-stifled 
sound  issued  from  his  lips,  that  was  neither  quite  a  cry 
nor  quite  a  sob. 


Liza,  in 

He  was  utterly  confounded.  He  had  trusted  his 
wife  so  blindly ;  the  possibility  of  deceit  or  of  treachery 
on  her  part  had  never  entered  into  his  mind.  This 
Ernest,  his  wife's  lover,  was  a  pretty  boy  of  about  three- 
and-twenty,  with  light  hair,  a  turned-up  nose,  and  a 
small  moustache — probably  the  most  insignificant  of 
all  his  acquaintances. 

Several  minutes  passed  ;  a  half  hour  passed.  Lav- 
retsky  still  stood  there,  clenching  the  fatal  note  in  his 
hand,  and  gazing  unmeaningly  on  the  floor.  A  sort  of 
dark  whirlwind  seemed  to  sweep  ro7\nd  him,  pale  faces 
to  glimmer  through  it. 

A  painful  sensation  of  numbness  had  seized  his 
heart.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  falling,  falling,  falling — 
into  a  bottomless  abyss. 

The  soft  rustle  of  a  silk  dress  roused  him  from  his 
torpor  by  its  familiar  sound.  Varvara  Pavlovna  came 
in  hurriedly  from  out  of  doors.  Lavretsky  shuddered 
all  over  and  rushed  out  of  the  room.  He  felt  that  at 
that  moment  he  was  ready  to  tear  her  to  pieces,  to 
strangle  her  with  his  own  hands,  at  least  to  beat  her  all 
but  to  death  in  peasant  fashion.  Varvara  Pavlovna,  in 
her  amazement,  wanted  to  stay  him.  He  just  succeed- 
ed in  whispering  "  Betty" — and  then  he  fled  from  the 
house. 

Lavretsky  took  a  carriage  and  drove  outside  the 
barriers.  All  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  the  whole  of  the 
night  he  wandered  about,  constantly  stopping  and 
wringing  his  hands  above  his  head.  Sometimes  he  was 


H2  Liza. 

frantic  with  rage,  at  others  every  thing  seemed  to  move 
him  to  laughter,  even  to  a  kind  of  mirth.  When  the 
morning  dawned  he  felt  half  frozen,  so  he  entered  a 
wretched  little  suburban  tavern,  asked  for  a  room,  and 
sat  down  on  a  chair  before  the  window.  A  convulsive 
fit  of  yawning  seized  him.  By  that  time  he  was  scarce 
ly  able  to  keep  upright,  and  his  bodily  strength  was  ut- 
terly exhausted.  Still  he  was  not  conscious  of  fatigue. 
But  fatigue  had  its  own  way.  He  continued  sitting 
there  and  gazing  vacantly,  but  he  comprehended  noth- 
ing. He  could  not  make  out  what  had  happened  to  him, 
why  he  found  himself  there,  alone,  in  an  empty,  unknown 
room,  with  numbed  limbs,  with  a  sense  of  bitterness  in 
his  mouth,  with  a  weight  like  that  of  a  great  stone  on 
his  heart.  He  could  not  understand  what  had  induced 
her,  his  Varvara,  to  give  herself  to  that  Frenchman,  and 
how,  knowing  herself  to  be  false  to  him,  she  could  have 
remained  as  calm  as  ever  in  his  presence,  as  confiding 
and  caressing  as  ever  towards  him.  "  I  cannot  make 
it  out,"  whispered  his  dry  lips.  "  And  how  can  I  be 

sure  now  that  even  at  St.  Petersburg ?  "  but  he  did 

not  complete  the  question ;  a  fresh  gaping  fit  seized 
him,  and  his  whole  frame  shrank  and  shivered.  Sunny 
and  sombre  memories  equally  tormented  him.  He  sud- 
denly recollected  how  a  few  days  before,  she  had  sat  at 
the  piano,  when  both  he  and  Ernest  were  present,  and 
had  sung  "  Old  husband,  cruel  husband  !"  He  remem- 
bered the  expression  of  her  face,  the  strange  brilliance 
of  her  eyes,  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks — and  he  rose 


Liza.  113 

i'rom  his  chair,  longing  to  go  to  them  and  say,  "  You 
•were  wrong  to  play  your  tricks  on  me.  My  great  grand- 
father used  to  hang  his  peasants  on  hooks  by  their  ribs, 
and  my  grandfather  was  a  peasant  himself," — and  then 
Icill  them  both.  All  of  a  sudden  it  would  appear  to  him 
as  if  every  thing  that  had  happened  were  a  dream,  even 
not  so  much  as  a  dream,  but  just  some  absurd  fancy; 
as  if  he  had  only  to  give  himself  a  shake  and  take  a 
look  round — and  he  did  look  round ;  and  as  a  hawk 
claws  a  captured  bird,  so  did  his  misery  strike  deeper 
and  deeper  into  his  heart.  What  made  things  worse 
was* that  Lavretsky  had  hoped,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months,  to  find  himself  once  more  a  father.  His  past, 
his  future,  his  whole  life  was  poisoned. 

At  last  he  returned  to  Paris,  went  to  a  hotel,  and 
sent  Varvara  Pavlovna  M.  Ernest's  note  with  the  fol- 
lowing letter : — 

•'  The  scrap  of  paper  which  accompanies  this  will 
explain  every  thing  to  you.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that 
you  do  not  seem  to  have  behaved  in  this  matter  with 
your  usual  tact.  You,  so  careful  a  person,  to  drop  such 
important  papers  (poor  Lavretsky  had  been  preparing 
this  phrase,  and  fondling  it,  as  it  were,  for  several 
hours).  I  can  see  you  no  more,  and  I  suppose  that 
you  too  can  have  no  wish  for  an  interview  with  me.  I 
assign  you  fifteen  thousand  roubles  a  year.  I  cannot 
give  you  more.  Send  your  address  to  the  steward  of 
my  estate.  And  now  do  what  you  like  ;  live  where  you 
please.  I  wish  you  all  prosperity.  I  want  no  answer." 


H4  Liza. 

Lavretsky  told  his  wife  that  he  wanted  no  answer ; 
but  he  did  expect,  he  even  longed  for  an  answer — an 
explanation  of  this  strange,  this  incomprehensible  af- 
fair. That  same  day  Varvara  Pavlovna  sent  him  a 
long  letter  in  French.  It  was  the  final  blow.  His  last 
doubts  vanished,  and  he  even  felt  ashamed  of  having 
retained  any  doubts.  Varvara  Pavlovna  did  not  attempt 
to  justify  herself.  All  that  she  wanted  was  to  see  him  ; 
she  besought  him  not  to  condemn  her  irrevocably.  The 
letter  was  cold  and  constrained,  though  marks  of  tears 
v/ere  to  be  seen  on  it  here  and  there.  Lavretsky 
smiled  bitterly,  and  sent  a  message  by  the  bearer,  to 
the  effect  that  the  letter  needed  no  reply. 

Three  days  later  he  was  no  longer  in  Paris ;  but  he 
went  to  Italy,  not  to  Russia.  He  did  not  himself  know 
why  he  chose  Italy  in  particular.  In  reality,  it  was  all 
the  same  to  him  where  he  went — so  long  as  he  did  not 
go  home.  He  sent  word  to  his  steward  about  his  wife's 
allowance,  ordering  him,  at  the  same  time,  to  withdraw 
the  whole  management  of  the  estate  from  General  Ko- 
robine  immediately,  without  waiting  for  any  settlement 
of  accounts,  and  to  see  to  his  Excellency's  departure 
from  Lavriki.  He  indulged  in  a  vivid  picture  of  the 
confusion  of  the  expelled  general,  the  useless  airs 
which  he  would  put  on,  and,  in  spite  of  his  sorrow,  he 
was  conscious  of  a  certain  malicious  satisfaction.  At 
the  same  time  he  wrote  to  Glafira  Petrovna,  asking  her 
to  return  to  Lavriki,  and  drew  up  a  power-of-attorney 
in  her  name.  But  Glafira  Petrovna  would  not  return 


Liza.  115 

» 

to  Lavriki ;  she  even  advertised  in  the  newspapers 
that  the  power-of-attorney  was  cancelled, — a  perfectly 
superfluous  proceeding  on  her  part. 

Lavretsky  hid  himself  in  a  little  Italian  town ;  but 
for  a  long  time  he  could  not  help  mentally  following 
his  wife's  movements.  He  learned  from  the  newspapers 
that  she  had  left  Paris  for  Baden,  as  she  had  intended. 
Her  name  soon  appeared  in  a  short  article  signed  by 
the  M.  Jules  of  whom  we  have  already  spoken.  The 
perusal  of  that  article  produced  a  very  unpleasant  ef- 
fect on  Lavretsky's  mind.  He  detected  in  it,  under- 
neath the  writer's  usual  sprightliness,  a  sort  of  tone  of 
charitable  commiseration.  Next  he  learned  that  a 
daughter  had  been  born  to  him.  Two  months  later  he 
was  informed  by  his  steward  that  Varvara  Pavlovna 
had  drawn  her  first  quarter's  allowance.  After  that, 
scandalous  reports  about  her  began  to  arrive  j  then 
they  became  more  and  more  frequent;  at  last  a  tragi- 
comic story,  in  which  she  played  a  very  unenviable 
part,  ran  the  round  of  all  the  journals,  and  created  a 
great  sensation.  Affairs  had  come  to  a  climax.  Var- 
vara Pavlovna  was  now  "  a  celebrity." 

Lavretsky  ceased  to  follow  her  movements.  But  i< 
was  long  before  he  could  master  his  own  feelings 
Sometimes  he  was  seized  by  such  a  longing  after  his 
wife,  that  he  fancied  he  would  have  been  ready  to  give 
every  thing  he  had — that  he  could,  perhaps,  even  have 
forgiven  her — if  only  he  might  once  more  have  heard 
her  caressing  voice,  have  felt  once  more  her  hand  in 


n6  Liza. 

i 

his.  But  time  did  not  pass  by  in  vain.  He  was  not 
born  for  suffering.  His  healthy  nature  claimed  its 
rights.  Many  things  became  intelligible  for  him.  The 
very  blow  which  had  struck  him  seemed  no  longer  to 
have  come  without  warning.  He  understood  his  wife 
now.  We  can  never  fully  understand  persons  with 
whom  we  are  generally  in  close  contact,  until  we  have 
been  separated  from  them.  He  was  able  to  apply 
himself  to  business  again,  and  to  study,  although  now 
with  much  less  than  his  former  ardor ;  the  scepticism 
for  which  both  his  education  and  his  experience  of  life 
had  paved  the  way,  had  taken  lasting  hold  upon  his 
mind.  He  became  exceedingly  indifferent  to  every 
thing.  Four  years  passed  by,  and  he  felt  strong  enough 
to  return  to  his  home,  to  meet  his  own  people.  With- 
out having  stopped  either  at  St.  Petersburg  or  at  Mos- 
cow, he  arrived  at  O.,  where  we  left  him,  and  whither 
we  now  entreat  the  reader  to  return  with  us. 


XVII. 

ABOUT  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  the  day  after 
that  of  which  we  have  already  spoken,  Lavretsky  was 
goiug  up  the  steps  of  the  Kalitines'  house,  when  he 
met  Liza  with  her  bonnet  and  gloves  on. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  he  asked  her. 

"  To  church.     To-day  is  Sunday." 

"  And  so  you  go  to  church  ?  " 

Liza  looked  at  him  in  silent  wonder. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Lavretsky.  "  I — I  did 
not  mean  to  say  that.  I  came  to  take  leave  of  you.  I 
shall  start  for  my  country-house  in  another  hour." 

"  That  isn't  far  from  here,  is  it  ?  "  asked  Liza. 

"  About  five-and-twenty  versts." 

At  this  moment  Lenochka  appeared  at  the  door,  ac- 
companied by  a  maid-servant. 

"  Mind  you  don't  forget  us,"   said  Liza,  and  went 
down  the  steps. 

"  Don't  forget  me  either.  By  the  way,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  you  are  going  to  church ;  say  a  prayer  for  me 
too,  while  you  are  there." 

Liza  stopped  and  turned  towards  him. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  looking  him  full  in  the  face. 
"  I  will  pray  for  you,  too.  Come,  Lenochka." 


n8  Liza. 

Lavretsky  found  Maria  Dmilrievna  alone  in  the 
drawing-room,  which  was  redolent  of  Eau  de  Cologne 
and  peppermint.  Her  head  ached,  she  said,  and  she 
had  spent  a  restless  night. 

She  received  him  with  her  usual  languid  amiability, 
and  by  degrees  began  to  talk. 

"  Tell  me,'  she  asked  him,  "  is  not  Vladimir  Niko- 
laevich  a  very  agreeable  young  man  ?  " 

"  Who  is  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  ?  " 

"  Why  Panshine,  you  know,  who  was  here  yesterday. 
He  was  immensely  delighted  with  you.  Between  our- 
selves I  may  mention,  mon  cher  cousin,  that  he  is  per- 
fectly infatuated  with  my  Liza.  Well,  he  is  of  good 
family,  he  is  getting  on  capitally  in  the  service,  he  is 
clever,  and  besides  he  is  a  chamberlain  ;  and  if  such  be 
the  will  of  God — I,  for  my  part,  as  a  mother,  shall  be 
glad  of  it.  It  is  certainly  a  great  responsibility  ;  most 
certainly  the  happiness  of  children  depends  upon  their 
parents.  But  this  much  must  be  allowed.  Up  to  the 
present  time,  whether  well  or  ill,  I  have  done  every 
thing  myself,  and  entirely  by  myself.  I  have  brought 
up  my  children  and  taught  them  every  thing  myself — 
and  now  I  have  just  written  to  Madame  Bulous  for  a 
governess " 

Maria  Dmitrievna  launched  out  into  a  description 
of  her  cares,  her  efforts,  her  maternal  feelings.  Lav- 
retsky listened  to  her  in  silence,  and  twirled  his  hat  in 
his  hands.  His  cold,  unsympathetic  look  at  last  dis- 
concerted the  talkative  lady. 


Liza.  1 19 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  Liza?  "  she  asked. 

"  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  is  an  exceedingly  handsome 
girl,"  replied  Lavretsky.  Then  he  got  up,  said  good- 
bye, and  went  to  pay  Marfa  Timofeevna  a  visit.  Ma- 
ria Dmitrievna  looked  after  him  with  an  expression  of 
dissatisfaction,  and  thought  to  herself,  "  What  a  bear! 
what  a  moujik  !  Well,  now  I  understand  why  his  wife 
couldn't  remain  faithful  to  him." 

Marfa  Timofeevna  was  sitting  in  her  room,  sur- 
rounded by  her  court.  This  consisted  of  five  beings, 
almost  equally  dear  to  her  heart — an  educated  bull- 
finch, to  which  she  had  taken  an  affection  becawse  it 
could  no  longer  whistle  or  draw  water,  and  which  was 
afflicted  with  a  swollen  neck ;  a  quiet  and  exceedingly 
timid  little  dog,  called  Roska;  a  bad-tempered  cat, 
named  Matros  ;  a  dark-complexioned,  lively  little  girl 
of  nine,  with  very  large  eyes  and  a  sharp  nose,  whose 
name  was  Shurochka ;  *  and  an  elderly  lady  of  about 
fifty-five,  who  wore  a  white  cap  and  a  short,  cinnamon- 
colored  katsaveika  f  over  a  dark  gown,  and  whose  name 
was  Nastasia  Carpovna  Ogarkof. 

Shurochka  was  a  fatherless  and  motherless  girl, 
whose  relations  belonged  to  the  lowest  class  of  the 
bourgeoisie.  Marfa  Timofeevna  had  adopted  her,  as 
well  as  Roska,  out  of  pity.  She  had  found  both  the 
dog  and  the  girl  out  in  the  streets.  Both  of  them  were 
thin  and  cold  ;  the  autumn  rain  had  drenched  them 

*  One  of  the  many  diminutives  of  Alexandrina. 
f  A  kind  of  jacket  worn  by  women. 


12O  Liza. 

both.  No  one  ever  claimed  Roska,  and  as  to  Shuroch 
ka,  she  was  even  gladly  given  up  to  Marfa  Timofeevna 
by  her  uncle,  a  drunken  shoemaker,  who  never  had 
enough  to  eat  himself,  and  could  still  less  provide  food  for 
his  niece,  whom  he  used  to  hit  over  the  head  with  his  last. 

As  to  Nastasia  Carpovna,  Marfa  Timofeevna  had 
made  acquaintance  with  her  on  a  pilgrimage,  in  a  mon- 
astery. She  went  up  to  that  old  lady  in  church  one 
day, — Nastasia  Carpovna  had  pleased  Marfa  Timofeev- 
na by  praying  as  the  latter  lady  said,  "  in  very  good 
taste" — began  to  talk  to  her,  and  invited  her  home  to  a 
cup  of  tea.  From  that  day  she  parted  with  her  no 
more.  Nastasia  Carpovna,  whose  father  had  belonged 
to  the  class  of  poor  gentry,  was  a  widow  without  chil- 
dren. She  was  a  woman  of  a  very  sweet  and  happy 
disposition ;  she  had  a  round  head,  grey  hair,  and  soft, 
white  hands.  Her  face  also  was  soft,  and  her  features, 
including  a  somewhat  comical  snub  nose,  were  heavy, 
but  pleasant.  She  worshipped  Marfa  Timofeevna,  who 
loved  her  dearly,  although  she  teased  her  greatly  about 
her  susceptible  heart.  Nastasia  Carpovna  had  a  weak- 
ness for  all  young  men,  and  never  could  help  blushing 
'ike  a  girl  at  the  most  innocent  joke.  Her  whole  prop- 
erty consisted  of  twelve  hundred  paper  roubles.*  She 
lived  at  Marfa  Timofeevna's  expense,  but  on  a  footing 
of  perfect  equality  with  her.  Marfa  Timofeevna  could 
not  have  endured  any  thing  like  servility. 

"Ah,  Fedia!"  she  began,  as  soon  as  she  saw  him 

*  About  £50. 


Liza.  121 

"  You  didn't  see  my  family  last  night.  Please  to  ad- 
mire them  now  ;  we  are  all  met  together  for  tea.  This 
is  our  second,  our  feast-day  tea.  You  may  embrace  us 
all.  Only  Shurochka  wouldn't  let  you,  and  the  cat 
would  scratch  you.  Is  it  to-day  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Lavretsky,  sitting  down  on  a  low  chair. 
'I  have  just  taken  leave  of  Maria  Dmitrievna.  I  saw 
Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  too." 

"  Call  her  Liza,  my  dear.  AVhy  should  she  be  Mik- 
hailovna for  you  ?  But  do  sit  still,  or  you  will  break 
Shurochka's  chair." 

"  She  was  on  her  way  to  church,"  continued  Lavret- 
sky. "  Is  she  seriously  inclined  ?" 

"  Yes,  Fedia,  very  much  so.  More  than  you  or  I, 
Fedia." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  not  seriously  in- 
clined ? "  lisped  Nastasia  Carpovna.  "  If  you  have  not 
gone  to  the  early  mass  to-day,  you  will  go  to  the  later 
one." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Thou  shalt  go  alone.  I've  grown 
lazy,  my  mother,"  answered  Marfa  Timofeevna.  "  I  am 
spoiling  myself  terribly  with  tea  drinking." 

She  said  thou  to  Nastasia  Carpovna,  although  she 
lived  on  a  footing  of  equality  with  her — but  it  was  not 
for  nothing  that  she  was  a  Pestof.  Three  Pestofs  oc- 
cur in  the  Sinodik*  of  Ivan  the  Terrible.  Marfa  Timo- 
feevna was  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  fact. 

*  /.  e.,  in  the  list  of  the  nobles  of  his  time,  'n  the  sixteenth  cen 
tur. 


122 


"  Tell  me,  please,"  Lavretsky  began  again.  "Maria 
Dmitrievna  was  talking  to  me  just  now  about  that — • 
what's  his  name  ? — Panshine.  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"  Good  Lord  !  what  a  chatter-box  she  is  !"  grumbled 
Marfa  Timofeevna.  "  I've  no  doubt  she  has  communi- 
cated to  you  as  a  secret  that  he  hangs  about  here  as  a 
suitor.  She  might  have  been  contented  to  whisper 
about  it  with  her  popovich*  But  no,  it  seems  that  is 
not  enough  for  her.  And  yet  there  is  nothing  settled 
so  far,  thank  God !  but  she's  always  chattering." 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  Thank  God  ?' "  asked  Lavretsky. 

"  Why,  because  this  fine  young  man  doesn't  please 
me.  And  what  is  there  in  the  matter  to  be  delighted 
about,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Doesn't  he  please  you  ? " 

"  No ;  he  can't  fascinate  every  one.  It's  enough 
for  him  that  Nastasia  Carpovna  here  is  in  love  with 
him." 

The  poor  widow  was  terribly  disconcerted. 

"  How  can  you  say  so,  Marfa  Timofeevna  ?  Do  not 
you  fear  God  ? "  she  exclaimed,  and  a  blush  instantly 
suffused  her  face  and  neck. 

"  And  certainly  the  rogue  knows  how  to  fascinate 
her,"  broke  in  Marfa  Timofeevna.  "  He  has  given  her 
a  snuff-box.  Fedia,  ask  her  for  a' pinch  of  snuff.  You 
will  see  what  a  splendid  snuff-box  it  is.  There  is  a  hus- 
sar on  horseback  on  the  lid.  You  had  much  better  not 
try  to  exculpate  yourself,  my  mother." 

*  The  priest's  son.  /.  e.,  Gedeonovsky. 


Liza  123 

Nastasia  Carpovna  could  only  wave  her  hands  with 
a  deprecatory  air. 

"  Well,  but  about  Liza  ? "  asked  Lavretsky.  *'  Is  he 
indifferent  to  her  ? " 

"  She  seems  to  like  him — and  as  to  the  rest,  God 
knows.  Another  person's  heart,  you  know,  is  a  dark 
forest,  and  more  especially  a  young  girl's.  Look  at 
Shurpchka  there  !  Come  and  analyze  her'sj  Why  has 
she  been  hiding  herself,  but  not  going  away,  ever  since 
you  came  in  ? " 

Shurochka  burst  into  a  laugh  she  was  unable  to 
stifle,  and  ran  out  of  the  room.  Lavretsky  also  rose 
from  his  seat. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  slowly  ;  "  one  cannot  fathom  a  girl's 
heart." 

As  he  was  going  to  take  leave, 

"  Well ;  shall  we  see  you  soon  ?  "  asked  Marfa  Tim- 
ofeevna. 

"  Perhaps,  aunt.  It's  no  great  distance  to  where 
I'm  going." 

"  Yes ;  you're  going,  no  doubt,  to  Vasilievskoe. 
You  won't  live  at  Lavriki.  Well,  that's  your  affair. 
Only  go  and  kneel  down  at  your  mother's  grave,  and 
your  grandmother's,  too,  while  you  are  there.  You  have 
picked  up  all  kinds  of  wisdom  abroad  there,  and  per- 
haps, who  can  tell,  they  may  feel,  even  in  their  graves, 
that  you  have  come  to  visit  them.  And  don't  forget, 
Fedia,  to  have  a  service  said  for  Glafira  Petrovna,  too. 
Here  is  a  rouble  for  you.  Take  it,  take  it  please  ;  it  is 


124  Liza. 

I  who  wish  to  have  the  service  performed  for  her.  1 
didn't  love  her  while  she  lived,  but  it  must  be  confessed 
that  she  was  a  girl  of  character.  She  was  clever.  And 
then  she  didn't  hurt  you.  And  now  go,  and  God  be 
with  you — else  I  shall  tire  you." 

And  Marfa  Timofeevna  embraced  her  nephew. 

"  And  Liza  shall  not  marr,y  Panshine  ;  don't  make 
yourself  uneasy  about  that.  He  isn't  the  sort  of  man 
she  deserves  for  a  husband." 

"  But  I  am  not  in  the  least  uneasy  about  it,"  re- 
1  marked  Lavretsky  as  he  retired. 


XVIII. 

FOUR  hours  later  he  was  on  his  way  towafds  his 
home.  His  tarantass  rolled  swiftly  along  the  soft  cross- 
road. There  had  been  no  rain  for  a  fortnight.  The 
atmosphere  was  pervaded  by  a  light  fog  of  milky  hue, 
which  hid  the  distant  forests  from  sight,  while  a  smell 
or  burning  filled  the  air.  A  number  of  dusky  clouds 
with  blurred  outlines  stood  out  against  a  pale  blue  sky, 
and  lingered,  slowly  drawn.  A  strongish  wind  swept 
by  in  an  unbroken  current,  bearing  no  moisture  with 
it,  and  not  dispelling  the  great  heat.  His  head  lean- 
ing back  on  the  cushions,  his  arms  folded  across 
his  breast,  Lavretsky  gazed  at  the  furrowed  plains 
which  opened  fanwise  before  him,  at  the  cytisus  shrubs, 
at  the  crows  and  rooks  which  looked  sideways  at  the 
passing  carriage  with  dull  suspicion,  at  the  long  ridges 
planted  with  mugwort,  wormwood,  and  mountain  ash. 
He  gazed — and  that  vast  level  solitude,  so  fresh  and  so 
fertile,  that  expanse  of  verdure,  and  those  sweeping 
slopes,  the  ravines  studded  with  clumps  of  dwarfed 
oaks,  the  grey  hamlets,  the  thinly-clad  birch  trees — all 
this  Russian  landscape,  so  long  by  him  unseen,  filled 
his  mind  with  feelings  which  were  sweet,  but  at  the 
same  time  almost  sad,  and  gave  rise  to  a  certain  heav- 


1 26  Liza. 

iness  of  heart,  but  one  which  was  more  akin  to  a  pleas 
ure  than  to  a  pain.  His  thoughts  wandered  slowly  past, 
their  forms  as  dark  and  ill-defined  as  those  of  the 
clouds,  which  also  seemed  vaguely  wandering  there  on 
high.  He  thought  of  his  childhood,  of  his  mother, 
how  they  brought  him  to  her  on  her  death-bed,  and  how, 
pressing  his  head  to  her  breast,  she  began  to  croon  over 
him,  but  looked  up  at  Glafira  Petrovna  and  became  si- 
lent. He  thought  of  his  father,  at  first  robust,  brazen- 
voiced,  grumbling  at  every  thing — then  blind,  queru- 
lous, with  white,  uncared-for  beard.  He  remembered 
how  one  day  at  dinner,  when  he  had  taken  a  little  too 
much  wine,  the  old  man  suddenly  burst  out  laughing, 
and  began  to  prate  about  his  conquests,  winking  his 
blind  eyes  the  while,  and  growing  red  in  the  face.  He 
thought  of  Varvara  Pavlovna — and  his  face  contracted 
involuntarily,  like  that  of  a  man  who  feels  some  sudden 
pain,  and  he  gave  his  head  an  impatient  toss.  Then  his 
thoughts  rested  on  Liza.  "  There,"  he  thought, "  is  a  new 
life  just  beginning.  A  good  creature  !  I  wonder  what 
will  become  of  her.  And  she's  pretty,  too,  with  her 
pale,  fresh  face,  her  eyes  and  lips  so  serious,  and  that 
frank  and  guileless  way  she  has  of  looking  at  you.  It's 
a  pity  she  seems  a  little  enthusiastic.  And  her  figure 
is  good,  and  she  moves  about  lightly,  and  she  has  a 
quiet  voice.  I  like  her  best  when  she  suddenly  stands 
still,  and  listens  attentively  and  gravely,  then  becomes 
contemplative  and  shakes  her  hair  back.  Yes,  I  agree, 
Panshine  isn't  worthy  of  her.  Yet  what  harm  is  there 


Liza.  127 

in  him  ?  However,  as  to  all  that,  why  am  I  troubling 
my  head  about  it  ?  She  will  follow  the  same  road  that 
all  others  have  to  follow.  I  had  better  go  to  sleep.' 
And  Lavretsky  closed  his  eyes. 

He  could  not  sleep,  but  he  sank  into  a  traveller's 
dreamy  reverie.  Just  as  before,  pictures  of  by-gone 
days  slowly  rose  and  floated  across  his  mind,  blending 
with  each  other,  and  becoming  confused  with  other 
scenes.  Lavretsky  began  to  think — heaven  knows 
\vhy — about  Sir  Robert  Peel ;  then  about  French  his- 
tory ;  lastly,  about  the  victory  which  he  would  have 
gained  if  he  had  been  a  general.  The  firing  and  the 
shouting  rang  in  his  ears.  His  head  slipped  on  one 
side;  he  opened  his  eyes — the  same  fields  stretched 
before  him,  the  same  level  views  met  his  eyes.  The 
iron  shoes  of  the  outside  horses  gleamed  brightly  by 
turns  athwart  the  waving  dust,  the  driver's  yellow  *  shirt 
swelled  with  the  breeze.  "  Here  I  am,  returning  vir- 
tuously to  my  birth-place,"  suddenly  thought  Lavretsky, 
and  he  called  out,  "  Get  on  there ! "  drew  his  cloak 
more  closely  around  him,  and  pressed  himself  still 
nearer  to  the  cushion.  The  tarantass  gave  a  jerk. 
Lavretsky  sat  upright  and  opened  his  eyes  wide.  On 
the  slope  before  him  extended  a  small  village.  A  little 
to  the  right  was  to  be  seen  an  old  manor  house  of  mod- 
est dimensions,  its  shutters  closed,  its  portico  awry. 
On  one  side  stood  a  barn  built  of  oak,  small,  but  well 

*  Yellow,  with  red  pieces  let  in  under  the  armpits. 


128  Liza. 

preserved.  The  wide  court-yard  was  entirely  over- 
grown by  nettles,  as  green  and  thick  as  hemp.  This 
was  Vasilievskoe. 

The  driver  turned  aside  to  the  gate,  and  stopped  his 
horses.  Lavretsky's  servant  rose  from  his  seat,  ready 
to  jump  down,  and  shouted  "  Halloo  !  "  A  hoarse,  dull 
barking  arose  in  reply,  but  no  dog  made  its  appearance. 
The  lackey  again  got  ready  to  descend,  and  again  cried 
"  Halloo  !  "  The  feeble  barking  was  repeated,  and  di- 
rectly afterwards  a  man,  with  snow-white  hair,  dressed 
in  a  nankeen  caftan,  ran  into  the  yard  from  one  of  the 
corners.  He  looked  at  the  tarantass,  shielding  his  eyes 
from  the  sun,  then  suddenly  struck  both  his  hands  upon 
his  thighs,  fidgeted  about  nervously  for  a  moment,  and 
finally  ran  to  open  the  gates.  The  tarantass  entered 
the  court-yard,  crushing  the  nettles  under  its  wheels, 
and  stopped  before  the  portico.  The  white-headed 
old  man,  who  was  evidently  of  a  very  active  turn,  was 
already  standing  on  the  lowest  step,  his  legs  spread 
awkwardly  apart.  He  unbuttoned  the  apron  of  the 
carriage,  pulling  up  the  leather  with  a  jerk,  and  kissed 
his  master's  hand  while  assisting  him  to  alight. 

"  Good  day,  good  day,  brother,"  said  Lavretsky. 
"  Your  name  is  Anton,  isn't  it .  So  you're  still  alive  ?  " 

The  old  man  bowed  in  silence,  and  then  ran  to  fetch 
the  keys.  While  he  ran,  the  driver  sat  motionless, 
leaning  sideways  and  looking  at  the  closed  door;  and 
Lavretsky's  man-servant  remained  in  the  picturesque 
attitude  in  which  he  found  himself  after  springing 


Liza.  129 

down  to  the  ground,  one  of  his  arms  resting  on  the 
box  seat.  The  old  man  brought  the  keys  and  opened 
the  door,  lifting  his  elbows  high  the  while,  and  need- 
lessly wriggling  his  body — then  he  stood  on  one  side, 
and  again  bowed  down  to  his  girdle. 

"  Here  I  am  at  home,  actually  returned !"  thought 
Lavretsky,  as  he  entered  the  little  vestibule,  while  the 
shutters  opened,  one  after  another,  with  creak  and 
rattle,  and  the  light  of  day  penetrated  into  the  long- 
deserted  rooms. 


XIX. 

THE  little  house  at  which  Lavretsky  had  arrived, 
and  in  which  Glafira  Petrovna  had  died  two  years  be- 
fore, had  been  built  of  solid  pine  timber  in  the  preced- 
ing century.  It  looked  very  old,  but  it  was  good  for 
another  fifty  years  or  more.  Lavretsky  walked  through 
all  the  rooms,  and,  to  the  great  disquiet  of  the  faded 
old  flies  which  clung  to  the  cornices  without  moving, 
their  backs  covered  with  white  dust,  he  had  the  windows 
thrown  open  everywhere.  Since  the  death  of  Glafira 
Petrovna,  no  one  had  opened  them.  Every  thing  had 
remained  precisely  as  it  used  to  be  in  the  house.  In 
the  drawing-room  the  little  white  sofas,  with  their  thin 
legs,  and  their  shining  grey  coverings,  all  worn  and 
rumpled,  vividly  recalled  to  mind  the  times  of  Catha- 
rine. In  that  room  also  stood  the  famous  arm-chair  of 
the  late  proprietress,  a  chair  with  a  high,  straight  back, 
in  which,  even  in  her  old  age,  she  used  always  to  sit 
bolt  upright.  On  the  wall  hung  an  old  portrait  of 
Fedor's  great-grandfather,  Andrei  Lavretsky.  His 
dark,  sallow  countenance  could  scarcely  be  distin- 
guished against  the  cracked  and  darkened  background. 
His  small,  malicious  eyes  looked  out  morosely  from 
beneath  the  heavy,  apparently  swollen  eyelids.  His 


Liza.  131 

black  hair,  worn  without  powder,  rose  up  stiff  as  a 
brush  above  his  heavy,  wrinkled  forehead.  From  the 
corner  of  the  portrait  hung  a  dusky  wreath  of  immor- 
telles. "  Glafira  Petrovna  deigned  to  weave  it  herself," 
observed  Anthony.  In  the  bed-room  stood  a  narrow 
bedstead,  with  curtains  of  some  striped  material,  ex- 
tremely old,  but  of  very  good  quality.  On  the  bed  lay 
a  heap  of  faded  cushions  and  a  thin,  quilted  counter- 
pane ;  and  above  the  bolster  hung  a  picture  of  the 
Presentation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Temple,  the 
very  picture  which  the  old  lady,  when  she  lay  dying, 
alone  and  forgotten,  pressed  for  the  last  time  with  lips 
which  were  already  beginning  to  grow  cold.  Near  the 
window  stood  a  toilet  table,  inlaid  with  different  kinds 
of  wood  and  ornamented  with  plates  of  copper,  sup- 
porting a  crooked  mirror  in  a  frame  of  which  the  gild- 
ing had  turned  black.  In  a  line  with  the  bed-room  was 
the  oratory,  a  little  room  with  bare  walls ;  in  the  corner 
stood  a  heavy  case  for  holding  sacred  pictures,  and  on 
the  floor  lay  the  scrap  of  carpet,  worn  threadbare,  and 
covered  with  droppings  from  wax  candles,  on  which 
Glafira  Petrovna  used  to  prostrate  herself  when  she 
prayed. 

Anton  went  out  with  Lavretsky's  servant  to  open 
the  stable  and  coach-house  doors.  In  his  stead  ap- 
peared an  old  woman,  almost  as  old  as  himself,  her 
hair  covered  by  a  handkerchief,  which  came  down  to 
her  very  eyebrows.  Her  head  shook  and  her  eyes 
seemed  dim;  but  they  wore,  also,  an  expression  of 


132  Liza. 

zealous  obedience,  habitual  and  implicit,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  of  a  kind  of  respectful  condolence.  She 
kissed  Lavretsky's  hand,  and  then  remained  near  the 
door,  awaiting  his  orders.  He  could  not  remember 
what  her  name  was,  nor  even  whether  he  had  ever  seen 
her  before.  It  turned  out  that  her  name  was  Apraxia. 
Some  forty  years  previously,  Glafira  Petrovna  had 
struck  her  off  the  list  of  the  servants  who  lived  in  the 
house,  and  had  ordered  her  to  become  a  poultry-maid. 
She  seldom  spoke,  seemed  half  idiotic,  and  always  wore 
a  servile  look.  Besides  this  old  couple,  and  three 
paunchy  little  children  in  long  shirts,  Anton's  great- 
grandchildren, there  lived  also  in  the  seigniorial  house- 
hold an  untaxable  *  moujik,  who  had  only  one  arm.  He 
cackled  like  a  black-cock,  and  was  fit  for  nothing.  Of 
very  little  more  use  was  the  infirm  old  hound  which 
had  saluted  Lavretsky's  return  by  its  barking.  For  ten 
whole  years  it  had  been  fastened  to  a  heavy  chain,  pur- 
chased by  order  of  Glafira  Petrovna,  a  burden  under 
which  it  was  now  scarcely  able  to  move. 

Having  examined  the  house,  Lavretsky  went  out  into 
the  garden,  and  was  well  pleased  with  it.  It  was  all 
overgrown  with  steppe  grass,  with  dandelions,  and  with 
gooseberry  and  raspberry  bushes ;  but  there  was  plenty 
of  shade  in  it,  a  number  of  old  lime-trees  growing  there, 
of  singularly  large  stature,  with  eccentrically  ordered 
branches.  They  had  been  planted  too  close  together, 

*  One  who  had  not  received  the  usual  grant  of  land  from  the 
community,  and  was  not  subject  to  rates  like  the  rest. 


Liza.  133 

and  a  hundred  years  seemed  to  have  elapsed  since  they 
were  pruned.  At  the  end  of  the  garden  was  a  small, 
clear  lake,  surrounded  by  a  fringe  of  high,  reddish-col- 
ored rushes.  The  traces  of  a  human  life  that  is  past 
soon  disappear.  Glafira's  manor-house  had  not  yet 
grown  wild,  but  it  seemed  to  have  become  already  im- 
mersed in  that  quiet  slumber  which  all  that  is  earthly 
sleeps,  whenever  it  is  not  affected  by  the  restlessness'  of 
humanity. 

Lavretsky  also  went  through  the  village.  The  women 
looked  at  him  from  the  door-ways  of  their  cottages, 
each  resting  her  cheek  upon  her  hand.  The  men  bowed 
low  from  afar,  the  children  ran  out  of  sight,  the  dogs 
barked  away  at  their  ease.  At  last  he  felt  hungry,  but 
he  did  not  expect  his  cook  and  the  other  servants  till 
the  evening.  The  waggon  bringing  provisions  from 
Lavriki  had  not  yet  arrived.  It  was  necessary  to  have 
recourse  to  Anton.  The  old  man  immediately  made  his 
arrangements.  He  caught  an  ancient  fowl,  and  killed 
and  plucked  it.  Apraxia  slowly  squeezed  and  washed 
it,  scrubbing  it  as  if  it  had  been  linen  for  the  wash,  be- 
fore putting  it  into  the  stewpan.  When  at  last  it  was 
ready,  Anton  laid  the  table,  placing  beside  the  dish  a 
three-footed  plated  salt-cellar,  blackened  with  age,  and 
a  cut-glass  decanter,  with  a  round  glass  stopper  in  its 
narrow  neck.  Then,  in  a  kind  of  chant,  he  announced 
to  Lavretsky  that  dinner  was  ready,  and  took  his  place 
behind  his  master's  chair,  a  napkin  wound  around  his 
right  hand,  and  a  kind  of  air  of  the  past,  like  the  odor 


134  Liza. 

of  cypress-wood  hanging  about  him.  Lavretsky  tasted 
the  broth,  and  took  the  fowl  out  of  it.  The  bird's  skin 
was  covered  all  over  with  round  blisters,  a  thick  tendon 
ran  up  each  leg,  and  the  flesh  was  as  tough  as  wood,  and 
had  a  flavor  like  that  which  pervades  a  laundry.  After 
dinner  Lavretsky  said  that  he  would  take  tea  if 

"  I  will  bring  it  in  a  moment,"  broke  in  the  old  man, 
and  "he  kept  his  promise.  A  few  pinches  of  tea  were 
found  rolled  up  in  a  scrap  of  red  paper.  Also  a  small, 
but  very  zealous  and  noisy  little  samovar*  was  discov- 
ered, and  some  sugar  in  minute  pieces,  which  looked  as 
if  they  had  been  all  but  melted  away.  Lavretsky  drank 
his  tea  out  of  a  large  cup.  From  his  earliest  childhood 
he  remembered  this  cup,  on  which  playing  cards  were 
painted,  and  from  which  only  visitors  were  allowed  to 
drink ;  and  now  he  drank  from  it,  like  a  visitor. 

Towards  the  evening  came  the  servants.  Lavretsky 
did  not  like  to  sleep  in  his  aunt's  bed,  so  he  had  one 
made  up  for  him  in  the  dining-room.  After  putting  out 
the  candle,  he  lay  for  a  long  time  looking  around  him, 
and  thinking  what  were  not  joyous  thoughts.  He  ex- 
perienced the  sensations  which  every  one  knows  who  has 
had  to  spend  the  night  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  unin- 
habited room.  He  fancied  that  the  darkness  which 
pressed  in  upon  him  from  all  sides  could  not  accustom 
itself  to  the  new  tenant — that  the  very  walls  of  the  house 
were  astonished  at  him.  At  last  he  sighed,  pulled  the 
counterpane  well  over  him,  and  went  to  sleep.  Anton 
*  Urn. 


Liza.  135 

remained  on  his  legs  long  after  every  one  else  had  gone 
to  bed.  For  some  time  he  spoke  in  a  whisper  to 
Apraxia,  sighing  low  at  intervals,  and  three  times  he 
crossed  himself.  The  old  servants  had  never  expected 
that  their  master  would  settle  down  among  them  at 
Vasilievskoe,  when  he  had  such  a  fine  estate,  with  a 
well-appointed  manor-house  close  by.  They  did  not 
suspect  what  was  really  the  truth,  that  Lavriki  was  re- 
pugnant to  its  owner,  that  it  aroused  in  his  mind  too 
painful  recollections.  After  they  had  whispered  to  each 
other  enough,  Anton  took  a  stick,  and  struck  the  watch- 
man's board,  which  had  long  hung  silently  by  the  barn. 
Then  he  lay  down  in  the  open  yard,  without  troubling 
himself  about  any  covering  for  his  white  head.  The 
May  night  was  calm  and  soothing,  and  the  old  man  slept 
soundly. 


XX. 

THE  next  day  Lavretsky  rose  at  a  tolerably  early 
hour,  chatted  with  the  starosta*  visited  the  rick-yard, 
and  had  the  chain  taken  off  the  yard  dog,  which  just 
barked  a  little,  but  did  not  even  come  out  of  its  kennel. 
Then,  returning  home,  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  quiet  rev- 
erie, from  which  he  did  not  emerge  all  day.  "  Here  I 
am,  then,  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  river !  "f  he  said  to 
himself  more  than  once.  He  sat  near  the  window  with- 
out stirring,  and  seemed  to  listen  to  the  flow  of  the  quiet 
life  which  surrounded  him,  to  the  rare  sounds  which 
came  from  the  village  solitude.  Behind  the  nettles  some 
one  was  singing  with  a  thin,  feeble  voice  ;  a  gnat  seemed 
to  be  piping  a  second  to  it.  The  voice  stopped,  but  the 
gnat  still  went  on  piping.  Through  the  monotonous  and 
obtrusive  buzzing  of  the  flies  might  be  heard  the  hum- 
ming of  a  large  humble  bee,  which  kept  incessantly 
striking  its  head  against  the  ceiling.  A  cock  crowed  in 
the  street,  hoarsely  protracting  its  final  note,  a  cart  rat- 
tled past,  a  gate  creaked  in  the  village.  "  What  ? "  sud- 
denly screeched  a  woman's  voice.  "  Ah,  young  lady  !  " 

*  The  head  of  the  village. 

f  A  popular  phrase,  to  express  a  life  quiet  as  the  depths  of  a 
river  are. 


Liza.  137 

said  Anton  to  a  little  girl  of  two  years  old  whom  he  was 
carrying  in  his  arms.  "  Bring  the  kvass  here,"  continued 
the  same  woman's  voice.  Then  a  death-like  silence 
suddenly  ensued. 

Nothing  stirred,  not  a  sound  was  audible.  The  wind 
did  not  move  the  leaves.  The  swallows  skimmed  along 
he  ground  one  after  another  without  a  cry,  and  their 
silent  flight  made  a  sad  impression  upon  the  heart  of 
the  looker-on.  "  Here  I  am,  then,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
river,"  again  thought  Lavretsky.  "  And  here  life  is 
always  sluggish  and  still ;  whoever  enters  its  circle  must 
resign  himself  to  his  fate.  Here  there  is  no  use  in  agi- 
tating oneself,  no  reason  why  one  should  give  oneself 
trouble.  He  only  will  succeed  here  who  traces  his  on- 
ward path  as  patiently  as  the  plougher  traces  the  fur- 
row with  his  plough.  And  what  strength  there  is  in  all 
around ;  what  robust  health  dwells  in  the  midst  of  this 
inactive  stillness  !  There  under  the  window  climbs  the 
large-leaved  burdock  from  the  thick  grass.  Above  it 
the  lovage  extends  its  sappy  stalk,  while  higher  still  the 
Virgin's  tears  hang  out  their  rosy  tendrils.  Farther 
away  in  the  fields  shines  the  rye,  and  the  oats  are  al- 
ready in  ear,  and  every  leaf  on  its  tree,  every  blade  of 
grass  on  its  stalk,  stretches  itself  out  to  its  full  extent. 
On  a  woman's  love  my  best  years  have  been  wasted  !  " 
(Lavretsky  proceeded  to  think.)  "Well,  then,  let  the 
dulness  here  sober  me  and  calm  me  down  ;  let  it  edu- 
cate me  into  being  able  to  work  like  others  without  hur- 
rying." And  he  again  betook  himself  to  listening  to  tho 


138  Liza. 

silence,  without  expecting  anything,  and  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  as  if  incessantly  expecting  something.  The  still- 
ness embraced  him  on  all  sides ;  the  sun  went  down 
quietly  in  a  calm,  blue  sky,  on  which  the  clouds  floated 
tranquilly,  seeming  as  if  they  knew  why  and  whither 
they  were  floating.  In  the  other  parts  of  the  world,  at 
that  very  moment,  life  was  seething,  noisily  bestirring 
itself.  Here  the  same  life  flowed  silently  along,  like 
water  over  meadow  grass.  It  was  late  in  the  evening 
before  Lavretsky  could  tear  himself  away  from  the  con- 
templation of  this  life  so  quietly  welling  forth — so  tran- 
quilly flowing  past.  Sorrow  for  the  past  melted  away 
in  his  mind  as  the  snow  melts  in  spring ;  but,  strange 
to  say,  never  had  the  love  of  home  exercised  so  strong 
or  so  profound  an  influence  upon  him. 


XXI. 

IN  the  course  of  a  fortnight  Lavretsky  succeeded  in 
setting  Glafira  Petrovna's  little  house  in  order,  and  in 
trimming  the  court-yard  and  the  garden.  Its  stable  be- 
came stocked  with  horses ;  comfortable  furniture  was 
brought  to  it  from  Lavriki;  and  the  town  supplied  it 
with  wine,  and  with  books  and  newspapers.  In  short, 
Lavretsky  provided  himself  with  every  thing  he  wanted, 
and  began  to  lead  a  life  which  was  neither  exactly  that 
of  an  ordinary  landed  proprietor,  nor  exactly  that  of  a 
regular  hermit.  His  days  passed  by  in  uniform  regu- 
larity, but  he  never  found  them  dull,  although  he  had 
no  visitors.  He  occupied  himself  assiduously  and  at- 
tentively with  the  management  of  his  estate ;  he  rode 
about  the  neighborhood,  and  he  read.  But  he  read  lit- 
tle. He  preferred  listening  to  old  Anton's  stories. 

Lavretsky  generally  sat  at  the  window,  over  a  pipe 
and  a  cup  of  cold  tea.  Anton  would  stand  at  the  door, 
his  hands  crossed  behind  his  back,  and  would  begin  a 
deliberate  narrative  about  old  times,  those  fabulous 
times  when  oats  and  rye  were  sold,  not  by  measure,  but 
in  large  sacks,  and  for  two  or  three  roubles  the  sack  ; 
when  on  all  sides,  right  up  to  the  town,  there  stretched 
impenetrable  forests  and  untouched  steppes.  "  But 


140  Liza. 

now,"  grumbled  the  old  man,  over  whose  head  eighty 
years  had  already  passed,  "  everything  has  been  so  cut 
down  and  ploughed  up  that  one  can't  drive  anywhere.' 
Anton  would  talk  also  at  great  length  about  his  late  mis- 
tress, Glafira  Petrovna,  saying  how  judicious  and  eco- 
nomical she  was,  how  a  certain  gentleman,  one  of  her 
young  neighbors,  had  tried  to  gain  her  good  graces  for 
a  time,  and  had  begun -to  pay  her  frequent  visits;  and 
how  in  his  honor  she  had  deigned  even  to  put  on  her 
gala-day  cap  with  massacas  ribbons,  and  her  yellow  dress 
made  of  tru-tru-levantine ;  but  how,  a  little  later,  having 
become  angry  with  her  neighbor,  that  gentleman,  on  ac- 
count of  his  indiscreet  question,  "  I  suppose,  madam, 
you  doubtless  have  a  good  sum  of  money  in  hand  ? " 
she  told  her  servants  never  to  let  him  enter  her  house 
again — and  how  she  then  ordered  that,  after  her  death, 
every  thing,  even  to  the  smallest  rag,  should  be  handed 
over  to  Lavretsky.  And,  in  reality,  Lavretsky  found  his 
aunt's  property  quite  intact,  even  down  to  the  gala-day 
cap  with  the  massacas  ribbons,  and  the  yellow  dress  of 
tru-tru-levantine. 

As  to  the  old  papers  and  curious  documents  on 
which  Lavretsky  had  counted,  he  found  nothing  of  the 
kind  except  one  old  volume  ina which  his  grandfather, 
Peter  Andreich,  had  made  various  entries.  In  one 
place  might  be  read,  "  Celebration  in  the  city  of  St. 
Petersburg,  of  the  Peace  concluded  with  the  Turkish 
Empire  by  his  Excellency,  Prince  Alexander  Alexan- 
drovich  Prozorovsky  "  In  another,  "Recipe  of  a  de- 


Liza.  141 

coction  for  the  chest,"  with  the  remark,  "  This  prescrip- 
tion was  given  the  Generaless  Prascovia  Fedorovna 
Saltykof,  by  the  Archpresbyter  of  the  Life -beginning 
Trinity,  Fedor  Avksentevich."  Sometimes  there  oc- 
curred a  piece  of  political  information,  as  follows  : — 

"  About  the  French  tigers  there  is  somehow  si- 
lence " — and  close  by,  "  In  the  Moscoiv  Gazette  there  is 
an  announcement  of  the  decease  of  the  First-Major 
Mikhail  Petrovich  Kolychef.  Is  not  this  the  son  of 
Peter  Vasilievich  Kolychef?" 

Lavretsky  also  found  some  old  calendars  and  dream- 
books,  and  the  mystical  work  of  M.  Ambodik.  Many 
a  memory  did  the  long-forgotten  but  familiar  "  Symbols 
and  Emblems  "  recall  to  his  mind.  In  the  furthest  re- 
cess of  one  of  the  drawers  in  Glafira's  toilette-table, 
Lavretsky  found  a  small  packet,  sealed  with  black  wax, 
and  tied  with  a  narrow  black  ribbon.  Inside  the  packet 
were  two  portraits  lying  face  to  face,  the  one,  in  pastel, 
of  his  father  as  a  young  man,  with  soft  curls  falling 
over  his  forehead,  with  long,  languid  eyes,  and  with  a 
half- open  mouth  ;  the  other  an  almost  obliterated  pic- 
ture of  a  pale  woirfan,  in  a  white  dress,  with  a  white  rose 
in  her  hand — his  mother.  Of  herself  Glafira  never 
would  allow  a  portrait  to  be  taken. 

"  Although  I  did  not  then  live  in  the  house,"  Anto  i 
would  say  to  Lavretsky,  "yet  lean  remember  your  great 
grandfather,  Andrei  Afanasich.  I  was  eighteen  years 
old  when  he  died.  One  day  I  met  him  in  the  garden — • 
then  my  very  thighs  began  to  quake.  But  he  didn't  dc 


14?  Liza. 

anything,  only  asked  me  what  my  name  was,  and  sent 
me  to  his  bed-room  for  a  pocket-handkerchief.  He  was 
truly  a  seigneur — every  one  must  allow  that;  and  he 
wouldn't  allow  that  any  one  was  better  than  himself. 
For  I  may  tell  you,  your  great  grandfather  had  such  a 

wonderful  amulet — a  monk  from  Mount  Athos  had  given 

* 

him  that  amulet — and  that  monk  said  to  him,  '  I  give 
thee  this,  O  Boyar,  in  return  for  thy  hospitality.  Wear 
it,  and  fear  no  judge.'  Well,  it's  true,  as  is  well  known, 
that  times  were  different  then.  What  a  seigneur  want- 
ed to  do,  that  he  did.  If  ever  one  of  the  gentry  took 
it  into  his  head  to  contradict  him,  he  would  just  look  at 
him,  and  say,  '  Thou  swimmest  in  shallow  water '  * — 
that  was  a  favorite  phrase  with  him.  And  he  lived,  did 
your  great  grandfather  of  blessed  memory,  in  small, 
wooden  rooms.  But  what  riches  he  left  behind  him  ! 
What  silver,  what  stores  of  all  kinds  !  All  the  cellars 
were  crammed  full  of  them.  He  was  a  real  manager. 
That  little  decanter  which  you  were  pleased  to  praise 
was  his.  He  used  to  drink  brandy  out  of  it.  But  just 
see !  your  grandfather,  Peter  Andreich,  provided  him- 
self with  a  stone  mansion,  but  he  lived  worse  than  his 
father,  and  got  himself  no  satisfaction,  but  spent  all  his 
money,  and  now  there  is  nothing  to  remember  him  by — 
not  so  much  as  a  silver  spoon  has  come  down  to  us 
from  him  ;  and  for  all  that  is  left,  one  must  thank  Glafira 
Petrovna's  care." 

*  Part  of  a  Russian  proverb. 


Liza.  143 

"  But  is  it  true,"  interrupted  Lavretsky,  "  that  people 
used  to  call  her  an  old  witch  ? " 

"  But,  then,  who  called  her  so  ? "  replied  Anton,  with 
an  air  of  discontent. 

"  But  what  is  our  mistress  doing  now,  batyushka  ?  " 
the  old  man  ventured  to  ask  one  day.  "  Where  does  she 
please  to  have  her  habitation  ?  " 

"  I  am  separated  from  my  wife,"  answered  Lavret- 
sky, with  an  effort.  "  Please  don't  ask  me  about  her." 

"  I  obey,"  sadly  replied  the  old  man. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  Lavretsky  rode  over  to 
O.,  and  spent  the  evening  at  the  Kalitines'  house.  He 
found  Lemin  there,  and  took  a  great  liking  to  him.  Al- 
though, thanks  to  his  father,  Lavretsky  could  not  play 
any  instrument,  yet  he  was  passionately  fond  of  music 
— of  classical,  serious  music,  that  is  to  say.  Panshine 
was  not  at  the  Kalitines'  that  evening,  for  the  Governor 
had  sent  him  somewhere  into  the  country.  Liza  played 
unaccompanied,  and  that  with  great  accuracy.  Lemm 
grew  lively  and  animated,  rolled  up  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  conducted  the  music.  Maria  Dmitrievna  looked  at 
him  laughingly  for  a  while,  and  then  went  off  to  bed. 
According  to  her,  Beethoven  was  too  agitating  for  her 
nerves. 

At  midnight  Lavretsky  saw  Lemm  home,  and  re- 
mained with  him  till  three  in  the  morning.  Lemm 
talked  a  great  deal.  He  stooped  less  than  usual,  his 
eyes  opened  wide  and  sparkled,  his  very  hair  remained 
pushed  off  from  his  brow.  It  was  so  long  since  any 


144  Liza. 

one  had  shown  any  sympathy  with  him,  and  Lavretsky 
was  evidently  interested  in  him,  and  questioned  him 
carefully  and  attentively.  This  touched  the  old  man. 
He  ended  by  showing  his  music  to  his  guest,  and  he 
played,  and  even  sang,  in  his  worn-out  voice,  some  pas- 
sages from  his  own  works  ;  among  others,  an  entire 
ballad  of  Schiller's  that  he  had  set  to  music — that  of 
Fridolin.  Lavretsky  was  loud  in  its  praise,  made  him 
repeat  several  parts,  and,  on  going  away,  invited  him  to 
spend  some  days  with  him.  Lemm,  who  was  conduct- 
ing him  to  the  door,  immediately  consented,  pressing 
his  hand  cordially.  But  when  he  found  himself  alone 
in  the  fresh,  damp  air,  beneath  the  just-appearing 
dawn,  he  looked  round,  half-shut  his  eyes,  bent  himself 
together,  and  crept  back,  like  a  culprit,  to  his  bed-room. 
"  Ich  bin  wohl  nicht  klug  " — ("  I  must  be  out  of  my  wits  "), 
he  murmured,  as  he  lay  down  on  his  short,  hard  bed. 

He  tried  to  make  out  that  he  was  ill  when,  a  few  days 
later,  Lavretsky's  carriage  came  for  him.  But  Lavret- 
sky went  up  into  his  room,  and  persuaded  him  to  go. 
Stronger  than  every  other  argument  with  him  was  the 
fact  that  Lavretsky  had  ordered  a  piano  to  be  sent  out 
to  the  country-house  on  purpose  for  him.  The  two  com- 
panions went  to  the  Kalitines'  together,  and  spent  the 
evening  there,  but  not  quite  so  pleasantly  as  on  the 
previous  occasion.  Panshine  was  there,  talking  a  great 
deal  about  his  journey,  and  very  amusingly  mimicking 
the  various  proprietors  he  had  met,  and  parodying  their 
conversation.  Lavretsky  laughed,  but  Lemm  refused 


Liza,  145 

to  come  out  of  his  corner,  where  he  remained  in  silence, 
noiselessly  working  his  limbs  like  a  spider,  and  wearing 
a  dull  and  sulky  look.  It  was  not  till  he  rose  to  take 
leave  that  he  became  at  all  animated.  Even  when  sit- 
ting in  the  carriage,  the  old  man  at  first  seemed  still  un- 
sociable and  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts.  But  the 
calm,  warm  air,  the  gentle  breeze,  the  dim  shadows,  the 
scent  of  the  grass  and  the  birch  buds,  the  peaceful 
light  of  the  moonless,  starry  sky,  the  rhythmical  tramp 
and  snorting  of  the  horses,  the  mingled  fascinations  of 
the  journey,  of  the  spring,  of  the  night — all  entered 
into  the  soul  of  the  poor  German,  and  he  began  to  talk 
with  Lavretsky  of  his  own  accord. 


XXTI. 

HE  began  to  talk  about  music,  then  about  Liza,  and 
then  again  about  music.  He  seemed  to  pronounce  his 
words  more  slowly  when  he  spoke  of  Liza.  Lavretsky 
turned  the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  his  compo- 
sitions, and  offered,  half  in  jest,  to  write  a  libretto  for 
him. 

"  Hm  !  a  libretto  !  "  answered  Lemm.  "  No  ;  that  is 
beyond  me.  I  no  longer  have  the  animation,  the  play 
of  fancy,  which  are  indispensable  for  an  opera.  Al- 
ready my  strength  has  deserted  me.  But  if  I  could 
still  do  something,  I  should  content  myself  with  a  ro- 
mance. Of  course  I  should  lik-i  good  words." 

He  became  silent,  and  sat  foi  a  long-  time  without 
moving,  his  eyes  fixed  on  ta*  sky. 

"  For  instance,"  he  said  at  length,  "  something  in 
this  way—'  O  stars,  pure  stars  ! ' " 

Lavretsky  turned  a  little,  and  began  to  regard  him 
attentively , 

"  '  O  stars,  pure  stars  ! '  "  repeated  Lemm,  •' '  you 
look  alike  on  the  just  and  the  unjust.  But  only  the 
innocent  of  heart ' — or  something  of  that  kind — '  under- 
stand you  ' — that  is  to  say,  no — '  love  you.'  However, 


Liza. 


J47 


I  am  not  a  poet.  What  am  I  thinking  about?  But 
something  of  that  kind — something  lofty." 

Lemm  pushed  his  hat  back  from  his  forehead. 
Seen  by  the  faint  twilight  of  the  clear  night,  his  face 
seemed  paler  and  younger. 

"  '  And  you  know  also,'  "  he  continued,  in  a  gradual- 
ly lowered  voice,  "  '  you  know  those  who  love,  who 
know  how  to  love  ;  for  you  are  pure,  you  alone  can  con- 
sole.' Noj  all  that  is  not  what  I  mean.  I  am  not  a 
poet.  But  something  of  that  kind." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  a  poet  either,"  remarked 
Lavretsky. 

"  Empty  dreams ! "  continued  Lemm,  as  he  sank 
into  the  corner'  of  the  carriage.  Then  he  shut  his  eyes 
as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  sleep. 

Several  minutes  passed.     Lavretsky  still  listened. 

"  Stars,  pure  stars  .  .  .  love '  "  whispered  the  old 
man. 

"  Love  !  "  repeated  Lavretsky  to  himself.  Then  he 
fell  into  a  reverie,  and  his  heart  grew  heavy  within  him. 

"  You  have  set  '  Fridolin '  to  charming  music, 
Christophor  Fedorovich,"  he  said  aloud  after  a  time*. 
But  what  is  your  opinion  ?  This  Fridolin,  after  he 
had  been  brought  into  the  presence  of  the  countess  by 
her  husband,  didi't  he  then  immediately  become  her 
lover — eh  ?  " 

"  You  think  so,"  answered  Lemm,  "  because,  most 
ikely,  experience " 

He  stopped  short,  and  turned  away  in  confusion. 


148  Liza. 

Lavretsky  uttered  a  forced  laugh.  Then  he  too 
turned  away  from  his  companion,  and  began  looking 
out  along  the  road. 

The  stars  had  already  begun  to  grow  pale,  and  the 
sky  to  turn  grey,  when  the  carriage  arrived  before  the 
steps  of  the  little  house  at  Vasilievskoe.  Lavretsky 
conducted  his  guest  to  his  allotted  room,  then  went  to 
his  study,  and  sat  down  in  front  of  the  window.  Out  in 
the  garden  a  nightingale  was  singing  its  last  song  before 
the  dawn.  Lavretsky  remembered  that  at  the  Kali- 
tines'  also  a  nightingale  had  sung  in  the  garden.  He 
remembered  also  the  quiet  movement  of  Liza's  eyes 
when,  at  its  first  notes,  she  had  turned  toward  the  dark 
casement.  He  began  to  think  of  her,  and  his  heart 
grew  calm. 

"Pure  maiden,"  he  said,  in  a  half-whisper,  "pure 
stars,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  and  then  quietly  lay 
down  to  sleep. 

But  Lemm  sat  for  a  long  time  on  his  bed,  with  a 
sheet  of  music  on  his  knees.  It  seemed  as  if  some 
sweet  melody,  yet  unborn,  were  intending  to  visit  him. 
He  already  underwent  the  feverish  agitation,  he  already 
felt  the  fatigue  and  the  delight,  of  its  vicinity ;  but  it 
always  eluded  him. 

"  Neither  poet  nor  musician  !  "  he  whispered  at  last ; 
and  his  weary  head  sank  heavily  upon  the  pillow. 

The  next  morning  Lavretsky  and  his  guest  drank 
their  tea  in  the  garden,  under  an  old  lime-tree. 


Liza.  149 

"  Maestro,"  said  Lavretsky,  among  other  things, 
"  you  will  soon  have  to  compose  a  festal  cantata." 

"  On  what  occasion  ?" 

"  Why,  on  that  of  Mr.  Panshine's  marriage  with 
Liza.  Didn't  you  observe  what  attention  he  paid  her 
yesterday  ?  All  goes  smoothly  with  them  evidently." 

"  That  will  never  be  !"  exclaimed  Lemm. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because    it's    impossible.      However,"  he  addec* 
after  pausing  awhile,  "  in  this  world  everything  is  pos- 
sible.    Especially  in  this  country  of  yours — in  Russia." 

"  Let  us  leave  Russia  out  of  the  question  for  the 
present.  But  what  do  you  see  objectionable  in  that 
marriage  ? " 

"  Every  thing  is  objectionable — every  thing.  Liza- 
veta  Mikhailovna  is  a  serious,  true-hearted  girl,  with 
lofty  sentiments.  But  he — he  is,  to  describe  him  by 
one  word,  a  dil-le-tante? 

"  But  doesn't  she  love  him  ?" 

Lemm  rose  from  his  bench. 

"  No,  she  does  not  love  him.  That  is  to  say,  she  is 
very  pure  of  heart,  and  does  not  herself  know  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words,  '  to  love.'  Madame  Von  Kalitine 
tells  her  that  he  is  an  excellent  young  man;  and  she 
obeys  Madame  Von  Kalitine  because  she  is  still  quite 
a  child,  although  she  is  now  nineteen.  She  says  her 
prayers  every  morning ;  she  says  her  prayers  every 
evening — and  that  is  very  praiseworthy.  But  she  does 
not  love  him.  She  can  love  only  what  is  noble.  But  he 
.s  not  noble ;  that  is  to  say,  hip  sn:;1  is  not  noblo." 


150  Liza. 

Lemm  uttered  the  whole  of  this  speech  fluently,  and 
with  animation,  walking  backwards  and  forwards  with 
short  steps  in  front  of  the  tea-table,  his  eyes  running 
along  the  ground  meanwhile. 

"  Dearest  Maestro  !"  suddenly  exclaimed  Lavretsky, 
"  I  think  you  are  in  love  with  my  cousin  yourself. 

Lemm  suddenly  stopped  short. 

"  Please  do  not  jest  with  me  in  that  way,"  he  began, 
with  faltering  voice.  "  I  am  not  put  of  my.  mind.  I 
ook  forward  to  the  dark  grave,  and  not  to  a  rosy 
future." 

Lavretsky  felt  sorry  for  the  old  man,  and  begged  his 
pardon.  After  breakfast  Lemm  played  his  cantata,  and 
after  dinner,  at  Lavretsky's  own  instigation,  he  again 
began  to  talk  about  Liza.  Lavretsky  listened  to  him 
attentively  and  with  curiosity. 

"What  do  you  say  to  this,  Christopher  Fedoro- 
iritch  ?  "  he  said  at  last.  "  Every  thing  seems  in  order 
here  now,  and  the  garden  is  in  full  bloom.  Why 
shouldn't  I  invite  her  to  come  here  for  the  day,  with  her 
mother  and  my  old  aunt — eh  ?  Will  that  be  agreeable 
to  you  ?  " 

Lemm  bowed  his  head  over  his  plate. 

"Invite  her,"  he  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

"  But  we  needn't  ask  Panshine." 

"  No,  we  needn't,"  answered  the  old  man,  with  an 
almost  childlike  smile. 

Two  days  later  Lavretsky  went  into  town  and  to  the 
Kalatines'. 


XXIV. 

HE  found  them  all  at  home,  but  he  did  not  tell  them 
of  his  plan  immediately.  He  wanted  to  speak  to  Liza 
alone  first.  Chance  favored  him,  and  he  was  left  alone 
with  her  in  the  drawing-room.  They  began  to  talk.  As 
a  general  rule  she  was  never  shy  with  any  one,  and  by 
this  time  she  had  succeeded  in  becoming  accustomed  to 
him.  He  listened  to  what  she  said,  and  as  he  looked 
at  her  face,  he  musingly  repeated  Lemm's  words,  and 
agreed  with  him.  It  sometimes  happens  that  two  per- 
sons who  are  already  acquainted  v/ith  each  other,  but 
not  intimately,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes  sud- 
denly become  familiar  friends — and  the  consciousness 
of  this  familiarity  immediately  expresses  itself  in  their 
looks,  in  their  gentle  and  kindly  smiles,  in  their  gestures 
themselves.  And  this  happened  now  with  Lavretsky 
and  Liza.  "  Ah,  so  that's  what's  you're  like  !  "  thought 
she,  looking  at  him  with  friendly  eyes.  "Ah,  so  that's 
what's  you're  like  !  "  thought  he  also  ;  and  therefore  he 
was  not  much  surprised  when  she  informed  him,  not 
without  some  little  hesitation,  that  she  had  long  wanted 
to  say  something  to  him,  but  that  she  was  afraid  of 
vexing  him. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  speak  out,"  he  said,  standing  still 
in  front  of  her. 


152  Liza. 

Liza  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  his. 

"  You  are  so  good,"  she  began — and  at  the  same 
time  she  thought,  "yes,  he  is  really  good  " — "  I  hope  you 
will  forgive  me.  I  scarcely  ought  to  have  ventured  to 
speak  to  you  about  it — but  how  could  you — why  did 
you  separate  from  your  wife  ? " 

Lavretsky  shuddered,  then  looked  at  Liza,  and  sat 
clown  by  her  side. 

"  My  child,"  he  began  to  say,  "  I  beg  you  not  to 
touch  upon  that  wound.  Your  touch  is  light,  but — in 
spite  of  all  that,  it  will  give  me  pain." 

"  I  know,"  continued  Liza,  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
him,  "  that  she  is  guilty  before  you.  I  do  not  want  to 
justify  her.  But  how  can  they  be  separated  whom  God 
has  joined  together?" 

"  Our  convictions  on  that  score  are  widely  dif- 
ferent, Lizaveta  Mikhailovna,"  said  Lavretsky,  some- 
what coldly.  "  We  shall  not  be  able  to  understand  one 
another." 

Liza  grew  pale.  Her  whole  body  shuddered  slightly, 
but  she  was  not  silenced. 

"  You  ought  to  forgive,"  she  said  quietly,"  if  you 
wish  also  to  be  forgiven." 

"  Forgive !  "  cried  Lavretsky ;  you  ought  first  to 
know  her  for  whom  you  plead.  Forgive  that  woman, 
take  her  back  to  my  house,  her,  that  hollow,  heartless, 
creature  !  And  who  has  told  you  that  she  wants  to  re- 
turn to  me  ?  Why,  she  is  completely  satisfied  with  her 
position.  But  why  should  we  talk  of  her  ?  Her  name 


Liza. 


'53 


ought  never  to  be  uttered  by  you.  You  are  too  pure, 
you  are  not  in  a  position  even  to  understand  such  a 
being." 

"  Why  speak  so  bitterly  ?  "  said  Liza,  with  an  effort. 
The  trembling  of  her  hands  began  to  be  apparent. 
"  You  left  her  of  your  own  accord,  Fedor  Ivanich." 

"  But  I  tell  you,"  replied  Lavretsky,  with  an  invol- 
untary burst  of  impatience,  "  you  do  not  know  the  sort 
of  creature  she  is." 

Then  why  did  you  marry  her  ? "  whispered  Liza, 
with  downcast  eyes. 

Lavretsky  jumped  up  quickly  from  his  chair. 

"  Why  did  I  marry  her  ?  I  was  young  and  inexpe- 
rienced then.  I  was  taken  in.  A  beautiful  exterior 
fascinated  me.  I  did  not  understand  women;  there 
was  nothing  I  did  understand.  God  grant  you  may 
make  a  happier  marriage  !  But  take  my  word  for  it,  it 
is  impossible  to  be  certain  about  anything." 

"  I  also  may  be  unhappy,"  said  Liza,  her  voice  be- 
ginning to  waver,  "  but  then  I  shall  have  to  be  resigned. 
I  cannot  express  myself  properly,  but  I  mean  to  say 
that  if  we  are  not  resigned " 

Lavretsky  clenched  his  hands  and  stamped  his  foot, 

"  Dont't  be  angry ;  please  forgive  me,"  hastily  said 
Liza.  At  that  moment  Maria  Dmitrievna  came  into 
the  room.  Liza  stood  up  and  was  going  away,  when 
Lavretsky  unexpectedly  called  after  her : 

"  Stop  a  moment.  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask  of 
your  mother  and  you.  It  is  that  you  will  come  and  pay 
7"  • 


154  Liza. 

me  a  visit  in  my  new  home.  I've  got  a  piano,  you 
know ;  Lemm  is  stopping  with  me ;  the  lilacs  are  in 
bloom.  You  will  get  a  breath  of  country  air,  and  be 
able  to  return  the  same  day.  Do  you  consent  ? " 

Liza  looked  at  her  mother,  who  immediately  as- 
sumed an  air  of  suffering.  But  Lavretsky  did  not  give 
Madame  Kalatine  time  to  open  her  mouth.  He  instantly 
took  both  of  her  hands  and  kissed  them,  and  Maria 
Dmitrievna,  who  always  responded  to  winning  ways, 
and  had  never  for  a  moment  expected  such  a  piece  of 
politeness  from  "  the  bear,"  felt  herself  touched,  and 
gave  her  consent.  While  she  was  considering  what 
day  to  appoint,  Lavretsky  went  up  to  Liza,  and,  still 
under  the  influence  of  emotion,  whispered  aside  to  her, 
"  Thanks.  You  are  a  good  girl.  I  am  in  the  wrong." 
Then  a  color  came  into  her  pale  face,  which  lighted  up 
with  a  quiet  but  joyous  smile.  Her  eyes  also  smiled. 
Till  that  moment  she  had  been  afraid  that  she  had  of- 
fended him. 

"  M.  Panshine  can  come  with  us,  I  suppose  ?  "  asked 
Maria  Dmitrievna. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Lavretsky.  "  But  would  it  not 
be  better  for  us  to  keep  to  our  family  circle  ? " 

"  But  I  think "  began  Maria  Dmitrievna,  adding, 

however,  "  Well,  just  as  you  like." 

It  was  settled  that  Lenochka  and  Shurochka  should 
go.  Marfa  Timofeevna  refused  to  take  part  in  the  ex- 
cursion. 

"  It's  a  bore  to  me,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  to  move 


Liza.  155 

my  old  bones ;  and  there's  nowhere,  I  suppose,  in  your 
house  where  I  could  pass  the  night;  besides,  I  never 
can  sleep  in  a  strange  bed.  Let  these  young  folks  caper 
as  they  please." 

Lavretsky  had  no  other  opportunity  of  speaking 
with  Liza  alone,  but  he  kept  looking  at  her  in  a  manner 
that  pleased  her,  and  at  the  same  time  confused  her  a 
little.  She  felt  very  sorry  for  him.  When  he  went 
away,  he  took  leave  of  her  with  a  warm  pressure  of 
the  hand.  She  fell  into  a  reverie  as  soon  as  she  found 
herself  alone. 


XXIV.* 

ON  entering  the  drawing-room,  after  his  return  home, 
Lavretsky  met  a  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  wrinkled  but  an- 
imated face,  untidy  grey  whiskers,  a  long,  straight  nose, 
and  small,  inflamed  eyes.  This  individual,  who  was 
dressed  in  a  shabby  blue  surtout,  was  Mikhalevich,  his 
former  comrade  at  the  University.  At  first  Lavretsky 
did  not  recognize  him,  but  he  warmly  embraced  him  as 
soon  as  he  had  made  himself  known.  The  two  friends 
had  not  seen  each  other  since  the  old  Moscow  days. 
Then  followed  exclamations  and  questions.  Memories 
long  lost  to  sight  came  out  again  into  the  light  of  day. 
Smoking  pipe  after  pipe  in  a  hurried  manner,  gulping 
dcwn  his  tea,  and  waving  his  long  hands  in  the  air, 
Mikhalevich  related  his  adventures.  There  was  nothing 
very  brilliant  about  them,  and  he  could  boast  of  but 
little  success  in  his  various  enterprises ;  but  he  kept  in- 
cessantly laughing  a  hoarse,  nervous  laugh.  It  seemed 
that  about  a  month  previously  he  had  obtained  a  post 
in  the  private  counting-house  of  a  rich  brandy-farmer,f 
at  about  three  hundred  versts  from  O.,  and  having  heard 
of  Lavretsky's  return  from  abroad,  he  had  turned  out 
of  his  road  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  his  old  friend 

*  Omitted  in  the  French  translation. 

f  One  of  the  contractors  who  used  to  purchase  the  right  of 
supplying  the  people  with  brandy. 


Liza.  157 

again.  He  spoke  just  as  jerkingly  as  he  used  to  do  in 
the  days  of  youth,  and  he  became  as  noisy  and  as  warm 
as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  growing  then.  Lavretsky 
began  to  speak  about  his  own  affairs,  but  Mikhalevich 
stopped  him,  hastily  stammering  out,  "I  have  heard 
about  it,  brother ;  I  have  heard  about  it.  Who  could 
have  expected  it  ? "  and  then  immediately  turned  the 
conversation  on  topics  of  general  interest. 

"  I  must  go  away  again  to-morrow,  brother,"  he  said. 
"  To-day,  if  you  will  allow  it,  we  will  sit  up  late.  I 
want  to  get  a  thoroughly  good  idea  of  what  you  are 
now,  what  your  intentions  are  and  your  convictions, 
what  sort  of  man  you  have  become,  what  life  has  taught 
you "  (Mikhalevich  still  made  use  of  the  phraseology 
current  in  the  year  1830).  "As  for  me,  brother,  I  have 
become  changed  in  many  respects.  The  waters  of  life 
have  gone  over  my  breast.  Who  was  it  said  that  ?  But 
in  what  is  important,  what  is  substantial,  I  have  not 
changed.  I  believe,  as  I  used  to  do,  in  the  Good,  in  the 
True.  And  not  only  do  I  believe,  but  I  feel  certain  now 
— yes,  I  feel  certain,  certain.  Listen ;  I  make  verses, 
you  know.  There's  no  poetry  in  them,  but  there  is 
truth.  I  will  read  you  my  last  piece.  I  have  expressed 
in  it  my  most  sincere  convictions.  Now  listen." 

Mikhalevich  began  to  read  his  poem,  which  was 
rather  a  long  one.  It  ended  with  the  following  lines  : — 

"  With  my  whole  heart  have  I  given  myself  up  to  new  feelings ; 

In  spirit  I  have  become  like  unto  a  child, 
And  I  have  burnt  all  that  I  used  to  worship, 
I  worship  all  that  I  used  to  burn." 


158  Liza, 

Mikhalevich  all  but  wept  as  he  pronounced  these 
last  two  verses.  A  slight  twitching,  the  sign  of  a  strong 
emotion,  affected  his  large  lips ;  his  plain  face  lighted 
up.  Lavretsky  went  on  listening  until  at  last  the  spirit 
of  contradiction  was  roused  within  him.  He  became 
irritated  by  the  Moscow  student's  enthusiasm,  so  per- 
petually on  the  boil,  so  continually  ready  for  use.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  had  not  elapsed  before  a  dispute 
had  been  kindled  between  the  two  friends,  one  of  those 
endless  disputes  of  which  only  Russians  are  capable. 
They  two,  after  a  separation  which  had  lasted  for  many 
years,  and  those  passed  in  two  different  worlds,  neither 
of  them  clearly  understanding  the  other's  thoughts,  not 
even  his  own,  holding  fast  by  words,  and  differing  in 
words  alone,  disputed  about  the  most  purely  abstract 
ideas — and  disputed  exactly  as  if  the  matter  had  been 
one  of  life  and  death  to  both  of  them.  They  shouted 
and  cried  aloud  to  such  an  extent  that  every  one  in  the 
house  was  disturbed,  and  poor  Lemm,  who  had  shut 
himself  up  in  his  room  the  moment  Mikhalevich  ar- 
rived, felt  utterly  perplexed,  and  even  began  to  enter- 
tain some  vague  form  of  fear. 

"  But  after  all  this,  what  are  you  ?  blast  I  "*  cried 
Mikhalevich  at  midnight. 

"  Does  a  blas'e  man  ever  look  like  me  ? "  answered 
Lavretsky.  "  He  is  always  pale  and  sickly ;  but  I,  il 
you  like,  will  lift  you  off  the  ground  wi<  h  one  hand." 

*  Literally,  "disillusioned." 


Liza.  159 

"  Well  then,  if  not  blast,  at  least  a  sceptic,*  and  that 
is  still  worse.  But  what  right  have  you  to  be  a  sceptic  ? 
Your  life  has  not  been  a  success,  I  admit.  That  wasn't 
your  fault.  You  were  endowed  with  a  soul  full  of 
affection,  fit  for  passionate  love,  and  you  were  kept 
away  from  women  by  force.  The  first  woman  you  came 
across  was  sure  to  take  you  in." 

"  She  took  you  in,  too,"  morosely  remarked  Lavret- 
sky. 

"  Granted,  granted.  In  that  I  was  the  tool  of  fate. 
But  I'm  talking  nonsense.  There's  no  such  thing  as 
fate.  My  old  habit  of  expressing  myself  inaccurately ! 
But  what  does  that  prove  ? " 

"  It  proves  this  much,  that  I  have  been  distorted 
from  childhood." 

"  Well,  then,  straighten  yourself.  That's  the  good 
of  being  a  man.  You  haven't  got  to  borrow  energy. 
But,  however  that  may  be,  is  it  possible,  is  it  allow- 
able, to  work  upwards  from  an  isolated  fact,  so  to  speak, 
to  a  general  law — to  an  invariable  rule  ?  " 

"  What  rule  ? "  said  Lavretsky,  interrupting  him.  "  I 
do  not  admit " 

"  No,  that  is  your  rule,  that  is  your  rule,"  cried  the 
other,  interrupting  him  in  his  turn. 

"  You  are  an  egotist,  that's  what  it  is !  "  thundered 

*  He  says  in  that  original  Skyeptuik  instead  of  Skeptik,  on  which 
the  author  remarks,  "  Mikhalevich's  accent  testified  to  his  birth- 
place having  been  in  Little  Russia."- 


160  Liza. 

Mikhalevich  an  hour  later.  "  You  wanted  self-enjoy- 
ment ;  you  wanted  a  happy  life ;  you  wanted  to  live 
only  for  yourself " 

"  What  is  self-enjoyment  ?  " 

"  — And  every  thing  has  failed  you  ;  every  thing  has 
given  way  under  your  feet." 

"  But  what  is  self-enjoyment,  I  ask  you  ? " 

" — And  it  ought  to  give  way.  Because  you  looked 
for  support  there,  where  it  is  impossible  to  find  it ; 
because  you  built  your  house  on  the  quicksands " 

"Speak  plainer,  without  metaphor,  because  I  do  not 
understand  you." 

" — Because — laugh  away  if  you  like — because  there 
is  no  faith  in  you,  no  hearty  warmth — and  only  a  poor 
farthingsworth  of  intellect ;  *  you  are  simply  a  pitiable 
creature,  a  behind-your-age  disciple  of  Voltaire.  That's 
what  you  are." 

"  Who  ?     I  a  disciple  of  Voltaire  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  such  a  one  as  your  father  was  ;  and  you 
have  never  so  much  as  suspected  it." 

"  After  that,"  exclaimed  Lavretsky,  "  I  have  a  right 
to  say  that  you  are  a  fanatic." 

"  Alas  !  "  sorrowfully  replied  Mikhalevich,  "  unfor- 
tunately, I  have  not  yet  in  any  way  deserved  so  grand  a 
name " 

"  I  have  found  out  now  what  to  call  you  !  "  cried  the 
self-same  Mikhalevich  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
"  You  are  not  a  sceptic,  -nor  are  you  a  blase,  nor  a  dis- 

*  laterally,  "  intellect,  in  all  merely  a  copeck  intellect." 


Liza.  161 

ciple  of  Voltaire ;  you  are  a  marmot,*  and  a  culpable 
marmot ;  a  marmot  with  a  conscience,  not  a  naive  mar- 
mot. Nai've  marmots  lie  on  the  stovef  and  do  nothing, 
because  they  can  do  nothing.  They  do  not  even  think 
anything.  But  you  are  a  thinking  man,  and  yet  you  lie 
idly  there.  You  could  do  something,  and  you  do  noth- 
ing. You  lie  on  the  top  with  full  pauach  and  say,  '  To 
lie  idle — so  must  it  be  ;  because  all  that  people  ever  do 
—  is  all  vanity,  mere  nonsense  that  conduces  to  noth- 
ing."' 

"  But  what  has  shown  you  that  I  lie  idle  ? "  insisted 
Lavretsky.  "  Why  do  you  suppose  I  have  such  ideas  ? " 

"  — And,  besides  this,  all  you  people,  all  your  bro- 
therhood," continued  Mikhalevich  without  stopping, 
"  are  deeply  read  marmots.  You  all  know  where  the 
German's  shoe  piches  him  ;  you  all  know  what  faults 
Englishmen  and  Frenchmen  have;  and  your  miserable 
knowledge  only  serves  to  help  you  to  justify  your 
shameful  laziness,  your  abominable  idleness.  There 
are  some  who  even  pride  themselves  on  this,  that  '  I, 
forsooth,  am  a  learned  man.  I  lie  idle,  and  they  are 
fools  to  give  themselves  trouble.'  Yes  !  even  such  per- 
sons as  these  do  exist  among  us ;  not  that  I  say  this 
with  reference  to  you ;  such  persons  as  will  spend  all 
their  life  in  a  certain  langour  of  ennui,  and  get  accus- 
tomed to  it,  and  exist  in  it  like — like  a  mushroom  in  sour 

*  A  laibak,  a  sort  of  marmot  or  "  prairie  dog." 
f  The  top  of  the  stove  forms  the  sleeping  place  in  a  Russian 
peasant's  hut. 


162  Liza. 

cream  "  (Mikhalevich  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  own 
comparison).  "  Oh,  that  languor  of  ennui !  it  is  the 
ruin  of  the  Russian  people.  Throughout  all  time  the 
wretched  marmot  is  making  up  its  mind  to  work " 

"  But,  after  all,  what  are  you  scolding  about  ?  "  cried 
Lavretsky  in  his  turn.  "  To  work,  to  do.  You  had 
better  say  what  one  should  do,  instead  of  scolding,  O 
Demosthenes  of  Poltava."* 

"  Ah,  yes,  that's  what  you  want !  No,  brother,  I  will 
not  tell  you  that.  Every  one  must  teach  himself  that," 
replied  Demosthenes  in  an  ironical  tone.  "  A  proprie- 
tor, a  noble,  and  not  know  what  to  do  !  You  have  no 
faith,  or  you  would  have  known.  No  faith  and  no  divi- 
nation, "f 

"  At  all  events,  let  me  draw  breath  for  a  moment, 
you  fiend,"  prayed  Lavretsky.  "  Let  me  take  a  look 
round  me  !  " 

"  Not  a  minute's  breathing-time,  not  a  second's," 
replied  Mikhalevich,  with  a  commanding  gesture  of  the 
hand.  "  Not  a  single  second.  Death  does  not  tarry, 
and  life  also  ought  not  to  tarry." 

"  And  when  and  where  have  people  taken  it  into 
their  heads  to  make  marmots  of  themselves  ? "  he  cried 
at  four  in  the  morning,  in  a  voice  that  was  now  some- 
what hoarse,  "  Why,  here  !  Why,  now  !  In  Russia ! 
When  on  every  separate  individual  there  lies  a  duty,  a 

*  Poltava  is  a  town  of  Little  Russia.     It  will  be  remembereJ 
that  Mikhalovich  is  a  Little  Russian, 
•f  Otknmenie,  discovery  or  revelation. 


Liza.  163 

great  responsibility,  before  God,  before  the  nation,  be- 
fore himself!  We  sleep,  'but  time  goes  by.  We 
sleep " 

"  Allow  me  to  point  out  to  you,"  observed  Lavret- 
sky,  "  that  we  do  not  at  all  sleep  at  present,  but  rather 
prevent  other  persons  from  sleeping.  We  stretch  our 
throats  like  barn-door  cocks.  Listen,  that  one  is  crow- 
ing for  the  third  time." 

This  sally  made  Mikhalevich  laugh,  and  sobered  him 
down.  "  Good  night,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  and  put 
away  his  pipe  in  its  bag.  "  Good  night,"  said  Lavret- 
sky  also.  However,  the  friends  still  went  on  talking  for 
more  than  an  hour.  But  their  voices  did  not  rise  high 
any  longer,  and  their  talk  was  quiet,  sad,  kindly  talk. 

Mikhalevich  went  away  next  day,  in  spite  of  all  his 
host  could  do  to  detain  him.  Lavretsky  did  not  suc- 
ceed in  persuading  him  to  stay,  but  he  got  as  much  talk 
as  he  wanted  out  of  him. 

It  turned  out  that  Mikhalevich  was  utterly  impecu- 
nious. Lavretsky  had  already  been  sorry  to  see  in  him, 
on  the  preceding  evening,  all  the  characteristics  of  a 
poverty  of  long  standing.  His  shoes  were  trodden 
down,  his  coat  wanted  a  button  behind,  his  hands  were 
strangers  to  gloves,  one  or  two  bits  of  feather  were 
sticking  in  his  hair.  When  he  arrived,  he  did  not  think 
of  asking  for  a  wash ;  and  at  supper  he  ate  like  a  shark, 
tearing  the  meat  to  pieces  with  his  fingers,  and  noisily 
gnawing  the  bones  with  his  firm,  discolored  teeth. 

It  turned  out,  also,  that  he  had  not  thriven  in  the 


164  Liza. 

civil  service,  and  that  he  had  pinned  all  his  hopes  on 
the  brandy-farmer,  who  had  given  him  employment 
simply  that  he  might  have  an  "  educated  man  "  in  his 
counting-house.  In  spite  of  all  this,  however,  Mikhale- 
vich  had  not  lost  courage,  but  kept  on  his  way  leading 
the  life  of  a  cynic,  an  idealist,  and  a  poet ;  fervently 
caring  for,  and  troubling  himself  about,  the  destinies  of 
humanity  and  his  special  vocation  in  life — and  giving 
very  little  heed  to  the  question  whether  or  no  he  would 
die  of  starvation. 

Mikhalevich  had  never  married ;  but  he  had  fallen  in 
love  countless  times,  and  he  always  wrote  poetry  about 
all  his  loves :  with  especial  fervor  did  he  sing  about  a' 
mysterious,  raven-haired  "  lady."  It  was  rumored,  in- 
deed, that  this  "  lady  "  was  nothing  more  than  a  Jewess, 
and  one  who  had  numerous  friends  among  cavalry  offi- 
cers ;  but,  after  all,  if  one  thinks  the  matter  over,  it  is 
not  one  of  much  importance. 

With  Lemm,  Mikhalevich  did  not  get  on  well.  His 
extremely  loud  way  of  talking,  his  rough  manners, 
frightened  the  German,  to  whom  they  were  entirely  novel. 
One  unfortunate  man  immediately  and  from  afar  recog- 
nizes another,  but  in  old  age  he  is  seldom  willing  to 
associate  with  him.  Nor  is  that  to  be  wondered  at.  He 
has  nothing  to  share  with  him — not  even  hopes. 

Before  he  left,  Mikhalevich  had  another  long  talk 
with  Lavretsky,  to  whom  he  predicted  utter  ruin  if  he 
did  not  rouse  himself,  and  whom  he  entreated  to  occupy 
himself  serious'y  with  the  question  of  the  position  of 


Liza.  165 

bis  serfs.  He  set  himself  up  as  a  pattern  for  imitation, 
saying  that  he  had  been  purified  in  the  furnace  of  mis- 
fortune ;  and  then  he  several  times  styled  himself  a 
happy  man,  comparing  himself  to  a  bird  of  the  air,  a 
lily  of  the  valley. 

"  A  dusky  lily,  at  all  events,"  remarked  Lavretsky. 

"  Ah,  brother,  don't  come  the  aristocrat,"  answered 
Mikhalevich  good-humoredly ;  "but  rather  thank  God 
that  in  your  veins  also  there  flows  simple  plebeian  blood. 
But  I  see  you  are  now  in  need  of  some  pure,  unearthly 
being,  who  might  rouse  you  from  your  apathy." 

"  Thanks,  brother,"  said  Lavretsky  ;  "  I  have  had 
quite  enough  of  those  unearthly  beings." 

"  Silence,  cyneec  !  "  *  exclaimed  Mikhalevich. 

"  Cynic,"  said  Lavretsky,  correcting  him. 

"  Just  so,  cyneec,"  repeated  the  undisconcerted  Mik- 
halevich. 

Even  when  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  tarantass,  in 
which  his  flat  and  marvellously  light  portmanteau  had 
been  stowed  away,  he  still  went  on  talking.  Enveloped 
in  a  kind  of  Spanish  cloak,  with  a  collar  reddened  by 
long  use,  and  with  lion's  claws  instead  of  hooks,  he  con- 
tinued to  pour  forth  his  opinions  on  the  destinies  of 
Russia,  waving  his  swarthy  hand  the  while  in  the  air,  as 
if  he  were  sowing  the  seeds  of  future  prosperity.  At 
last  the  horses  set  off. 

"  Remember  my  last  three  words  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
leaning  almost  entirely  out  of  the  carriage,  and  scarcely 
*  He  says  Tsuinuik  instead  of  Tsinik. 


1 66  Liza. 

able  to  keep  his  balance.  "  Religion,  Progress,  Hu 
manity  !  Farewell !  "  His  head,  on  which  his  forage 
cap  was  pressed  down  to  his  eyes,  disappeared  from 
sight.  Lavretsky  was  left  alone  at  the  door,  where  he 
remained  gazing  attentively  along  the  road,  until  the 
carriage  was  out  of  sight.  "And  perhaps  he  is  right," 
he  thought,  as  he  went  back  into  the  house.  "  Perhaps 
I  am  a  marmot."  Much  of  what  Mikhalevich  had  said 
had  succeeded  in  winning  its  way  into  his  heart,  al- 
though at  the  time  he  had  contradicted  him  and  disa- 
greed with  him.  Let  a  man  only  be  perfectly  honest— 
fW>  one  can  utterly  gainsay  him. 


XXV. 

Two  days  later,  Maria  Dmitrievna  arrived  at  Vasi- 
lievskoe,  according  to  her  promise,  and  all  her  young 
people  with  her.  The  little  girls  immediately  ran  into 
the  garden,  but  Maria  Dmitrievna  languidly  walked 
through  the  house,  and  languidly  praised  all  she  sa\v. 
She  looked  upon  her  visit  to  Lavretsky  as  a  mark  of 
great  condescension,  almost  a  benevolent  action.  She 
smiled  affably  when  Anton  and  Apraxia  came  to  kiss 
her  hand,  according  to  the  old  custom  of  household 
serfs,  and  in  feeble  accents  she  asked  for  tea. 

To  the  great  vexation  of  Anton,  who  had  donned  a 
pair  of  knitted  white  gloves,  it  was  not  he  who  handed 
the  tea  to  the  lady  visitor,  but  Lavretsky's  hired  lackey, 
a  fellow  who,  in  the  old  man's  opinion,  had  not  a  notion 
of  etiquette.  However,  Anton  had  it  all  his  own  way 
at  dinner.  With  firm  step,  he  took  up  his  position  be- 
hind Madame  Kalitine's  chair,  and  he  refused  to  give 
up  his  post  lo  any  one.  The  apparition  of  visitors  at 
Vasilievskoe — a  sight  for  so  many  years  unknown  there 
— both  troubled  and  cheered  the  old  man.  It  was  a 
pleasure  for  him  to  see  that  his  master  was  acquainted 
with  persons  of  some  standing  in  society. 


1 68  Liza. 

Anton  was  not  the  only  person  who  was  agitated  thai 
day.  Lemm  was  excited  too.  He  had  put  on  a  short- 
ish snuff-colored  coat  with  pointed  tails,  and  had  tied  his 
cravat  tight,  he  coughed  incessantly,  and  made  way  for 
every  one  with  kindly  and  affable  mien.  As  for  La- 
vretsky,  he  remarked  with  satisfaction  that  he  remained 
on  the  same  friendly  footing  with  Liza  as  before.  As 
soon  as  she  arrived  she  cordially  held  out  her  hand  to 
him. 

After  dinner,  Lemm  took  a  small  roll  of  music-paper 
out  of  the  tail-pocket  of  his  coat,  into  which  he  had 
been  constantly  putting  his  hand,  and  silently,  with  com- 
pressed lips,  placed  it  upon  the  piano.  It  contained  a 
romance,  which  he  had  written  the  day  before  to  some 
old-fashioned  German  words,  in  which  mention  was 
made  of  the  stars.  Liza  immediately  sat  down  to  the 
piano,  and  interpreted  the  romance.  Unfortunately 
the  music  turned  out  to  be  confused  and  unpleasantly 
constrained.  It  was  evident  that  the  composer  had  at- 
tempted to  express  some  deep  and  passionate  idea,  but 
no  result  had  been  attained.  The  attempt  remained  an 
attempt,  and  nothing  more.  Both  Lavretsky  and  Liza 
felt  this,  and  Lemm  was  conscious  of  it  too.  Without 
saying  a  word,  he  put  his  romance  back  into  his  pocket ; 
and,  in  reply  to  Liza's  proposal  to  play  it  over  again,  he 
merely  shook  his  head,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  meaning, 
"  For  the  present — basta  !  "  then  bent  his  head,  stooped 
his  shoulders,  and  left  the  room. 

Towards  evening  they  all  went  out  together  to  fish, 


Liza.  169 

In  the  little  lake  at  the  end  of  the  garden  there  were 
numbers  of  carp  and  groundling.  Madame  Kalitine 
had  an  arm-chair  set  in  the  shade  for  her,  near  the  edge 
of  the  water,  and  a  carpet  was  spread  out  under  her  feet. 
Anton,  as  an  old  fisherman  of  great  experience,  offered 
her  his  services.  Zealously  did  he  fasten  on  the  worms, 
slap  them  with  his  hand,  and  spit  upon  them,  and  then 
fling  the  line  into  the  water  himself,  gracefully  bending 
forwards  the  whole  of  his  body.  Maria  Dmitrievna  had 
already  that  day  spoken  about  him  to  Fedor  Ivanovich, 
using  the  following  phrase  of  Institute-French: — "  /i 
rfy  a  plus  maintenant  de  ces  gens  comme  $a  comme  autrc- 
fois" 

Lemm  and  the  two  little  girls  went  on  to  the  dam  at 
the  end  of  the  lake.  Lavretsky  placed  himself  near 
Liza.  The  fish  kept  continually  nibbling.  Every  minute 
a  captured  carp  glistened  in  the  air  with  its  sometimes 
golden,  sometimes  silver,  sides.  The  little  girls  kept  up 
a  ceaseless  flow  of  joyful  exclamations.  Madame  Kal- 
itine herself  two  or  three  times  uttered  a  plaintive  cry 
Lavretsky  and  Liza  caught  fewer  fish  than  the  others ; 
probably  because  they  paid  less  attention  to  their  fish- 
ing, and  let  their  floats  drift  up  against  the  edge  of  the 
lake.  The  tall,  reddish  reeds  murmured  quietly  around 
them ;  in  front  quietly  shone  the  unruffled  water,  and 
the  conversation  they  carried  on  was  quiet  too. 

Liza  stood  on  the  little  platform  [placed  there  for 
the  use  of  the  washerwomen ;]  Lavretsky  sat  on  the  bent 
stem  of  a  willow.  Liza  wore  a  white  dress,  fastened 


170  Liza. 

round  the  waist  by  a  broad,  while  ribbon.  From  one 
hand  hung  her  straw  hat ;  with  the  other  she,  not  with- 
out some  effort,  supported  her  drooping  fishing-rod. 
Lavretsky  gazed  at  her  pure,  somewhat  severe  profile — • 
at  the  hair  turned  back  behind  her  ears — at  her  soft 
cheeks,  the  hue  of  which  was  like  that  of  a  young  child's 
- — and  thought :  "  How  charming  you  look,  standing 
there  by  my  lake  !  "  Liza  did  not  look  at  him,  but  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  water,  something  which  might  be 
a  smile  lurking  about  their  corners.  Over  both  Lavret- 
sky and  Liza  fell  the  shadow  of  a  neighboring  lime- 
'tree. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  began,  "  I  have  thought  a  great 
deal  about  our  last  conversation,  and  I  have  come  to 
this  conclusion,  that  you  are  exceedingly  good." 

"  It  certainly  was  not  with  that  intention  that  I " 

replied  Liza,  and  became  greatly  confused. 

"You  are  exceedingly  good,"  repeated  Lavretsky. 
"  I  am  a  rough-hewn  man ;  but  I  feel  that  every  one 
must  love  you.  There  is  Lemm,  for  instance :  he  's 
simply  in  love  with  you." 

Liza's  eyebrows  did  not  exactly  frown,  but  they  quiv- 
ered. This  always  happened  with  her  when  she  heard 
anything  she  did  not  like. 

"  I  felt  very  sorry  for  him  to-day,  with  his  unsuccess- 
ful romance,"  continued  Lavretsky.  "  To  be  young  and 
to  want  knowledge — that  is  bearable.  But  to  have  grown 
old  and  to  fail  in  strength — that  is  indeed  heavy.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is,  that  one  doesn't  know  when  one's  strength 


Liza.  171 

has  failed.  To  an  old  man  such  blows  are  hard  to  bear. 
Take  care !  you've  a  bite — I  hear,"  continued  Lavret- 
sky,  after  a  short  pause,  "  That  M.  Panshine  has  written 
a  very  charming  romance." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Liza,  "  it  is  a  small  matter ;  but  it 
isn't  bad." 

"  But  what  is  your  opinion  about  him  himself  ? " 
asked  Lavretsky.  "  Is  he  a  good  musician  ? " 

"  I  think  he  has  considerable  musical  faculty.  But 
as  yet  he  has  not  cultivated  it  as  he  ought." 

"  Just  so.     But  is  he  a  good  man  ? " 

Liza  laughed  aloud,  and  looked  up  quickly  at  Fedor 
Ivanovich. 

"  What  a  strange  question !  "  she  exclaimed,  with- 
drawing her  line  from  the  water,  and  then  throwing  it  a 
long  way  in  again. 

"  Why  strange  ?  I  ask  you  about  him  as  one  who 
has  been  away  from  here  a  long  time — as  a  relation." 

"  As  a  relation  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  believe  I  am  a  sort  of  uncle  of  yours." 

"  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  has  a  good  heart,"  said  Liza. 
"  He  is  clever.  Mamma  likes  him  very  much." 

"  But  you — do  you  like  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  good  man.     Why  shouldn't  I  like  him  ? " 

"  Ah ! "  said  Lavretsky,  and  became  silent.  A  half- 
sad,  half-mocking  expression  played  upon  his  face.  The 
fixed  look  with  which  he  regarded  her  troubled  Liza  \ 
but  she  went  on  smiling. 

"  Well,  may  God  grant  them  happiness ! "  he  mur- 


172  Liza. 

mured  at  last,  as  if  to  himself,  and  turned  away  his 
head. 

Liza  reddened. 

"  You  are  wrong,  Fedor  Ivanovich,"  she  said ;  "  you 

are  wrong  in  thinking But  don't  you  like  Vladimir 

vanovich  ? "  she  asked  suddenly. 

«  No." 

"  Why  ? " 

"  I  think  he  has  no  heart." 

The  smile  disappeared  from  Liza's  lips. 

"You  are  accustomed  to  judge  people  severely,"  she 
said,  after  a  long  silence. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  What  right  have  I  to  judge  oth- 
ers severely,  I  should  like  to  know,  when  I  stand  in 
need  of  indulgence  myself?  Or  have  you  forgotten 
that  it  is  only  lazy  people  who  do  not  mock  me  ?  But 
tell  me,"  he  added,  "  have  you  kept  your  promise  ?  " 

"  What  promise  ? " 

"  Have  you  prayed  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  prayed  for  you ;  and  I  pray  every  day.  But 
please  do  not  talk  lightly  about  that." 

Lavretsky  began  to  assure  Liza  that  he  had  never 
dreamt  of  doing  so — that  he  profoundly  respected  all 
convictions.  After  that  he  took  to  talking  about  reli- 
gion, about  its  significance  in  the  history  of  humanity, 
of  the  meaning  of  Christianity. 

"  One  must  be  a  Christian,"  said  Liza,  not  without 
an  effort,  "  not  in  order  to  recognize  what  is  heavenly. 
or  what  is  earthly,  but  because  every  one  must  die." 


Liza.  173 

With  an  involuntary  movement  of  surprise,  Lavret- 
sky  raised  his  eyes  to  Liza's,  and  met  her  glance. 

"  What  does  that  phrase  of  yours  mean  ? "  he  said. 

"  It  is  not  my  phrase,"  she  replied. 

"  Not  yours  ?     But  why  did  you  speak  about  death  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  often  think  about  it." 

"  Often  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  One  wouldn't  say  so,  looking  at  you  now.  Your 
face  seems  so  happy,  so  bright,  and  you  smile " 

"  Yes.     I  feel  very  happy  now,"  replied  Liza  simply. 

Lavretsky  felt  inclined  to  seize  both  her  hands  and 
press  them  warmly. 

"  Liza,  Liza  !  "  cried  Madame  Kalitine,  "  come  here 
and  see  what  a  carp  I  have  caught." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  answered  Liza,  and  went  to  hei. 

But  Lavretsky  remained  sitting  on  his  willow  stem. 

"  I  talk  to  her  just  as  if  I  still  had  an  interest  in 
life,"  he  thought. 

Liza  had  hung  up  her  hat  on  a  bough  when  she  went 
away.  It  wras  with  a  strange  and  almost  tender  feeling 
that  Lavretsky  looked  at  the  hat,  and  at  its  long,  slightly 
rumpled  ribbons. 

Liza  soon  came  back  again  and  took  up  her  former 
position  on  the  platform. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  Vladimir  Nikolaevich  has 
no  heart  ?  "  she  asked,  a  few  minutes  afterwards. 

"  I  have  already  told  you  that  I  may  be  mistaken, 
However,  time  will  reveal  all." 


174  Liza. 

Liza  became  contemplative.  Lavretsky  began  tc 
talk  about  his  mode  of  life  at  Vasilievskoe,  about  Mik- 
halevich,  about  Anton.  He  felt  compelled  to  talk  to 
Liza,  to  communicate  to  her  all  that  went  on  in  his  heart. 
And  she  listened  to  him  so  attentively,  with  such  kindly 
interest ;  the  few  remarks  and  answers  she  made  ap- 
peared to  him  so  sensible  and  so  natural.  He  even 
told  her  so. 

Liza  was  astonished.  "  Really  ?  "  she  said.  "  As 
for  me,  I  thought  I  was  like  my  maid,  Nastasia,  and  had 
no  words  '  of  my  own.'  She  said  one  day  to-  her  be- 
trothed, '  You  will  be  sure  to  be  bored  with  me.  You 
talk  to  me  so  beautifully  about  every  thing,  but  I  have 
no  words  of  my  own.' " 

"  Heaven  be  praised  !  "  thought.  Lavretsky. 


XXVI. 

IN  the  meantime  the  evening  had  arrived,  and  Maria 
Dinitrievna  evinced  a  desire  to  return  home.  With 
some  difficulty  the  little  girls  were  torn  away  from  the 
lake,  and  got  ready  for  the  journey.  Lavretsky  said 
he  would  accompany  his  guests  half-way  home,  and  or- 
dered a  horse  to  be  saddled  for  him.  After  seeing 
Maria  Dinitrievna  into  her  carriage  he  looked  about  for 
Lemm ;  but  the  old  man  could  nowhere  be  found.  He 
had  disappeared  the  moment  the  fishing  was  over. 
Anton  slammed  the  carriage  door  to,  with  a  strength 
remarkable  at  his  age,  and  cried  in  a  stern  voice,  "  Drive 
on,  coachman  !  "  The  carriage  set  off.  Maria  Dmitri- 
evna  and  Liza  occupied  the  back  seats  ;  the  two  girls 
and  the  maid  sat  in  front. 

The  evening  was  warm  and  still,  and  the  windows 
were  open  on  both  sides.  Lavretsky  rode  close  by  the 
carriage  on  Liza's  side,  resting  a  hand  on  the  door — he 
had  thrown  the  reins  on  the  neck  of  his  easily  trotting 
horse — and  now  and  then  exchanged  two  or  three  words 
with  the  young  girl.  The  evening  glow  disappeared. 
Night  came  on,  but  the  air  seemed  to  grow  even 
warmer  than  before.  Maria  Dmitrievna  soon  went  to 
sleep ;  the  little  girls  and  the  maid  servant  slept  also. 


176  Liza. 

Smoothly  and  rapidly  the  carriage  rolled  on.  As  Liza 
bent  forwards,  the  moon,  which  had  only  just  made  its 
appearance,  lighted  up  her  face,  the  fragrant  night  air 
breathed  on  her  eyes  and  cheeks,  and  she  felt  herself 
happy.  Her  hand  rested  on  the  door  of  the  carriage  by 
the  side  of  Lavretsky's.  He  too  felt  himself  happy  as 
he  floated  on  in  the  calm  warmth  of  the  night,  never 
moving  his  eyes  away  from  the  good  young  face,  listen- 
ing to  the  young  voice,  clear  even  in  its  whispers,  which 
spoke  simple,  good  words. 

It  even  escaped  his  notice  for  a  time  that  he  had 
gone  more  than  half  of  the  way.  Then  he  would  not 
disturb  Madame  Kalitine,  but  he  pressed  Liza's  hand 
lightly  and  said,  "  We  are  friends  now,  are  we  not  ? " 
She  nodded  assent,  and  he  pulled  up  his  horse.  The 
carriage  rolled  on  its  way  quietly  swinging  and  curtsey- 
ing. 

Lavretsky  returned  home  at  a  walk.  The  magic  of 
the  summer  night  took  possession  of  him.  All  that 
spread  around  him  seemed  so  wonderfully  strange,  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  so  well  known  and  so  dear.  Far 
and  near  all  was  still — and  the  eye  could  see  very  far, 
though  it  could  not  distinguish  much»of  what  it  saw — 
but  underneath  that  very  stillness  a  young  and  flowering 
life  made  itself  felt. 

Lavretsky's  horse  walked  on  vigorously,  swing'ng 
itself  steadily  to  right  and  left.  Its  great  black  shadow 
moved  by  its  side.  There  was  a  sort  of  secret  charm  in 
the  tramp  of  its  hoofs,  something  strange  and  joyous  in 


Liza.  177 

the  noisy  cry  of  the  quails.  The  stars  disappeared  in 
a  kind  of  luminous  mist.  The  moon,  not  yet  at  its  full, 
shone  with  steady  lustre.  Its  light  spread  in  a  blue 
stream  over  the  sky,  and  fell  in  a  streak  of  vaporous 
gold  on  the  thin  clouds  which  went  past  close  at  hand. 

The  freshness  of  the  air  called  a  slight  moisture  into 
Lavretsky's  eyes,  passed  caressingly  over  all  his  limbs, 
and  flowed  with  free  current  into  his  chest.  He  was 
conscious  of  enjoying,  and  felt  glad  of  that  enjoyment. 
"  Well,  we  will  live  on  still ;  she  has  not  entirely  de- 
prived us "  he  did  not  say  who,  or  of  what.  Then 

he  began  to  think  about  Liza ;  that  she  could  scarcely 
be  in  love  with  Panshine  ;  that  if  he  had  met  her  under 
other  circumstances — God  knows  what  might  have  come 
of  it;  that  he  understood  LemnTs  feelings  about  her 
now,  although  she  had  "  no  words  of  her  own."  And, 
moreover,  that  that  was  not  true ;  for  she  had  words  of 
her  own."  "  Do  not  speak  lightly  about  that,'1  recurred 
to  Lavretsky's  memory.  For  a  long  time  he  rode  on 
with  bent  head,  then  he  slowly  drew  himself  up  repeat- 
ing.— 

"  And  I  have  burnt  all  that  I  used  to  worship, 
I  worship  all  that  I  used  to  burn — " 

then  he  suddenly  struck  his  horse  with  his  whip  and 
and  galloped  straight  away  home. 

On  alighting  from  his  horse  he  gave  a  final  look 

round,   a  thankful   smile   playing  involuntarily  on   his 

lips.      Night — silent,  caressing  night — lay  on  the  hills 

and   dales.     From   its  fragrant  depths   afar — whether 

8* 


178  Liza. 

from  heaven  or  from  earth  could  not  be  told — there 
poured  a  soft  and  quiet  warmth.  Lavretsky  wished  a 
last  farewell  to  Liza — and  hastened  up  the  steps. 

The  next  day  went  by  rather  slowly,  rain  setting  in 
early  in  the  morning.  Lemm  looked  askance,  and  com- 
pressed his  lips  even  tighter  and  tighter,  as  if  he  had 
made  a  vow  never  to  open  them  again.  When  Lavret- 
sky lay  down  at  night  he  took  to  bed  with  him  a  whole 
bundle  of  French  newspapers,  which  had  already  lain 
unopened  on  his  table  for  two  or  three  weeks.  He  be 
gan  carelessly  to  tear  open  their  covers  and  to  skim  the 
contents  of  their  columns,  in  which,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  there  was  but  little  that  was  new.  He  was  just  on 
the  point  of  throwing  them  aside,  when  he  suddenly 
bounded  out  of  bed  as  if  something  had  stung  him. 
In  the  feuilleton  of  one  of  the  papers  our  former  ac- 
quaintance, M.  Jules,  communicated  to  his  readers  a 
"  painful  piece  of  intelligence."  "  The  fascinating,  fair 
Muscovite,"  he  wrote,  "  one  of  the  queens  of  fashion, 
the  ornament  of  Parisian  salons,  Madame  de  Lavret- 
ski,"  had  died  almost  suddenly.  And  this  news,  unfor- 
tunately but  too  true,  had  just  reached  him,  M.  Jules.'' 
He  was,  so  he  continued,  he  might  say,  a  friend  of  the 
deceased 

Lavretsky  put  on  his  clothes,  went  out  into  the  gar- 
den, and  walked  up  and  down  one  of  its  alleys  until  the 
break  of  day. 

At  breakfast,  next  morning,  Lemm  asked  Lavretsky 
to  let  him  have  horses  in  order  to  get  back  to  town. 


Liza.  179 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  return  to  business,  that  is  to 
lessons,"  remarked  the  old  man.  "  I  am  only  wasting 
iny  time  here  uselessly." 

Lavretsky  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  seemed  lost 
in  a  reverie. 

"  Very  good,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  I  will  go  with  you 
myself." 

Refusing  the  assistance  of  a  servant,  Lemm  packed 
his  little  portmanteau,  growing  peevish  the  while  and 
groaning  over  it,  and  then  tore  up  and  burnt  some 
sheets  of  music  paper.  The  carriage  came  to  the  door. 
As  Lavretsky  left  his  study  he  put  in  his  pocket  the 
copy  of  the  newspaper  he  had  read  the  night  before. 
During  the  whole  of  the  journey  neither  Lavretsky  nor 
Lemm  said  much.  Each  of  them  was  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  and  each  was  glad  that  the  other  did  not 
disturb  him.  And  they  parted  rather  coldly,  an  occur- 
rence which,  for  the  matter  of  that,  often  occurs  among 
friends  in  Russia.  Lavretsky  drove  the  old  man  to  his 
modest  dwelling.  Lemm  took  his  portmanteau  with 
him  as  he  got  out  of  the  carriage,  and,  without  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  to  his  friend,  he  held  the  portmanteau 
before  him  with  both  hands,  and,  without  even  looking 
at  him,  said  in  Russian,  "  Farewell !  "  "  Farewell !  " 
echoed  Lavretsky,  and  told  the  coachman  to  drive  to  his 
apartments ;  for  he  had  taken  lodgings  in  O. 

After  writing  several  letters,  and  making  a  hasty  din- 
ner, he  went  to  the  Kalitines'.  There  he  found  no  one 
in  the  drawing-room  but  Panshine,  who  told  him  that 


i8o  Liza. 

Maria  Dmitiievna  would  come  direct!},  and  immediate 
ly  entered  into  conversation  with  him  in  the  kindest  and 
most  affable  manner.  Until  that  day  Panshine  had 
treated  Lavretsky,  not  with  haughtiness  exactly,  but 
with  condescension ;  but  Liza,  in  describing  her  excur- 
sion of  the  day  before,  had  spoken  of  Lavretsky  as  an 
excellent  and  clever  man.  That  was  enough ;  the  "  ex- 
cellent "  man  must  be  captivated. 

Panshine  began  by  complimenting  Lavretsky,  giv- 
ing him  an  account  of  the  rapture  with  which,  accord- 
ing to  him,  all  the  Kalitine  family  had  spoken  of  Vasi- 
lievskoe  ;  then,  according  to  his  custom,  adroitly  bring- 
ing the  conversation  round  to  himself,  he  began  to  speak 
of  his  occupations,  of  his  views  concerning  life,  the 
world,  and  the  service ;  said  a  word  or  two  about  the 
future  of  Russia,  and  about  the  necessity  of  holding 
the  Governors  of  provinces  in  hand;  joked  facetiously 
about  himself  in  that  respect,  and  added  that  he,  among 
others,  had  been  entrusted  at  St.  Petersburg  with  the 
commission  de  populariser  I'' idee  du  cadastre.  He  spoke 
at  tolerable  length,  and  with  careless  assurance,  solv- 
ing all  difficulties,  and  playing  with  the  most  import- 
ant administrative  and  political  questions  as  a  juggler 
does  with  his  balls.  Such  expressions  as,  "That  is 
what  I  should  do  if  I  were  the  Government,"  and,  "  You, 
as  an  intelligent  man,  doubtless  agree  with  me,"  were 
always  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

Lavretsky  listened  coldly  to  Panshine's  eloquence. 
This  handsome,  clever,  and  unnecessarily  elegant  young 


Liza.  181 

man,  with  his  serene  smile,  his  polite  voice,  and  his  in- 
quisitive eyes,  was  not  to  his  liking.  Panshine  soon 
guessed,  with  the  quick  appreciation  of  the  feelings  of 
others  which  was  peculiar  to  him,  that  he  did  not  confer 
any  special  gratification  on  the  person  he  was  address- 
ing, so  he  disappeared  under  cover  of  some  plausible 
excuse,  having  made  up  his  mind  that  Lavretsky  might 
be  an  excellent  man,  but  that  he  was  unsympathetic, 
"aigri  "  and,  en  sonune,  somewhat  ridiculous. 

Madame  Kalitine  arrived,  accompanied  by  Gedeo- 
novsky.  Then  came  Marfa  Timofeevna  and  Liza,  and 
after  them  all  the  other  members  of  the  family.  After- 
wards, also,  there  arrived  the  lover  of  music,  Madame 
Belenitsine,  a  thin  little  woman,  with  an  almost  childish 
little  face,  pretty  but  worn,  a  noisy  black  dress,  a  parti- 
colored fan,  and  thick  gold  bracelets.  With  her  came 
her  husband,  a  corpulent  man,  with  red  cheeks,  large 
hands  and  feet,  white  eyelashes,  and  a  smile  which 
never  left  his  thick  lips.  His  wife  never  spoke  to  him 
in  society ;  and  at  home,  in  her  tender  moments,  she 
used  to  call  him  her  "  sucking  pig." 

Panshine  returned  ;  the  room  became  animated  and 
noisy.  Such  an  assemblage  of  people  was  by  no  means 
agreeable  to  Lavretsky.  He  was  especially  annoyed  by 
Madame  Belenitsine,  who  kept  perpetually  staring  at 
him  through  her  eye-glass.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Liza 
he  would  have  gone  away  at  once.  He  wanted  to  say 
a  few  words  to  her  alone,  but  for  a  long  time  he  could 
not  obtain  a  fitting  opportunity  of  doing  so,  and  had  to 


1 82  Liza. 

content  himself  with  following  her  about  with  his  eyes 
It  was  with  a  secret  joy  that  he  did  so.  Never  had  hei 
face  seemed  to  him  more  noble  and  charming.  She 
appeared  to  great  advantage  in  the  presence  of  Madame 
Belenitsine.  That  lady  was  incessantly  fidgeting  on 
her  chair,  working  her  narrow  shoulders,  laughing  af- 
fectedly, and  either  all  but  closing  her  eyes  or  opening 
them  unnaturally  wide.  Liza  sat  still,  looked  straight 
before  her,  and  did  not  laugh  at  all. 

Madame  Kalitine  sat  down  to  cards  with  Marfa  Ti- 
mofeevna,  Belenitsine,  and  Gedeonovsky,  the  latter  of 
whom  played  very  slowly,  made  continual  mistakes, 
squeezed  up  his  eyes,  and  mopped  his  face  with  his 
handkerchief.  Panshine  assumed  an  air  of  melancholy, 
and  expressed  himself  tersely,  sadly,  and  significantly 
— altogether  after  the  fashion  of  an  artist  who  has  not 
yet  had  any  opportunity  of  showing  off — but  in  spite  of 
the  entreaties  of  Madame  Belenitsine,  who  coquetted 
with  him .  to  a  great  extent,  he  would  not  consent  to 
sing  his  romance.  Lavretsky's  presence  embarrassed 
him. 

Lavretsky  himself  spoke  little,  but  the  peculiar  ex- 
pression his  face  wore  struck  Liza  as  soon  as  he  entered 
the  room.  She  immediately  felt  that  he  had  something 
to  communicate  to  her;  but,  without  knowing  herself 
why,  she  was  afraid  of  asking  him  any  questions.  At 
last,  as  she  was  passing  into  the  next  room  to  make  the 
tea,  she  almost  unconsciously  looked  towards  him.  He 
immediately  followed  her. 


Liza.  183 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  she  asked,  putting 
the  teapot  on  the  samovar* 

"  You  have  remarked  something,  then  ? "  he  said. 

"  You  are  different  to-day  from  what  I  have  seen  you 
before." 

Lavretsky  bent  over  the  table. 

"  I  wanted,"  he  began,  "  to  tell  you  a  piece  of  news, 
but  just  now  it  is  impossible.  But  read  the  part  of  this 
ftullleton  which  is  marked  in  pencil,"  he  added,  giving 
her  the  copy  of  the  newspaper  he  had  brought  with 
him.  "  Plea.se  keep  the  secret ;  I  will  come  back  to-mor- 
row morning." 

Liza  was  thoroughly  amazed.  At  that  moment 
Panshine  appeared  in  the  doorway.  She  put  the  news- 
paper in  her  pocket. 

"  Have  you  read  Obermann,f  Lizaveta  Mikhailov- 
na  ? "  asked  Panshine  with  a  thoughtful  air. 

Liza  replied  vaguely  as  she  passed  out  of  the  room, 
and  then  went  up-stairs.  Lavretsky  returned  into  the 
drawing  room  and  approached  the  card  table.  Marfa 
Timofeevna  flushed,  and  with  her  cap-strings  untied,  be- 
gan to  complain  to  him  of  her  partner  Gedeonovsky,  who, 
according  to  her, had  not  yet  learnt  his  steps.  "Card- 
playing,"  she  said,  "  is  evidently  a  very  different  thing 
from  gossiping."  Meanwhile  Gedeonovsky  never  left 
off  blinking  and  mopping  himself  with  his  handkerchief 

*  Urn. 

f  The  sentimental  romance  of  that  name,  written  by  E.  Piverl 
de  Senancour. 


184  Liza. 

Presently  Liza  returned  to  the  drawing-room  and  sat 
down  in  a  corner.  Lavretsky  looked  at  her  and  she  at 
him,  and  each  experienced  a  painful  sensation.  He 
could  read  perplexity  on  her  face,  and  a  kind  of  secret  re- 
proach. Much  as  he  wished  it,  he  could  not  get  a  talk 
with  her,  and  to  remain  in  the  same  room  with  her  as  a 
mere  visitor  among  other  visitors  was  irksome  to  him, 
so  he  determined  to  go  away. 

When  taking  leave  of  her,  he  contrived  to  repeat 
that  he  would  come  next  day,  and  he  added  that  he 
counted  on  her  friendship.  "  Come,"  she  replied,  with 
the  same  perplexed  look  still  on  her  face. 

After  Lavretsky's  departure,  Panshine  grew  ani- 
mated. He  began  to  give  advice  to  Gedeonovsky,  and  to 
make  mock  love  to  Madame  Belenitsine,  and  at  last  he 
sang  his  romance.  But  when  gazing  at  Liza,  or  talking 
to  her,  he  maintained  the  same  air  as  before,  one  of 
deep  meaning,  with  a  touch  of  sadness  in  it. 

All  that  night  also,  Lavretsky  did  not  sleep.  He 
was  not  unhappy,  he  was  not  agitated  ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  was  perfectly  calm ;  but  he  could  not  sleep.  He  was 
not  even  recalling  the  past.  He  simply  looked  at  his 
present  life.  His  heart  beat  firmly  and  equably,  the 
hours  flew  by,  he  did  not  even  think  about  sleeping. 
Only  at  times  there  came  into  his  head  the  thought, 
"  Surely  this  is  not  true,  this  is  all  nonsense."  And 
then  he  would  stop  short,  and  presently  let  his  head  fall 
back  and  again  betake  himself  to  gazing  into  the  stream 
of  his  life. 


XXVII. 

MADAME  KALITINE  did  not  receive  Lavretsky  over 
cordially,  when  he  paid  her  a  visit  next  day.  "  Ah ! 
he's  making  a  custom  of  it,"  she  thought.  She  was  not 
of  herself  disposed  to  like  him  very  much,  and  Panshine, 
who  had  got  her  thoroughly  under  his  influence,  had 
praised  him  the  evening  before  in  a  very  astutely  dis- 
paraging manner.  As  she  did  not  treat  him  as  an  hon- 
ored guest,  nor  think  it  necessary  to  trouble  herself 
about  one  who  was  a  relation,  almost  a  member  of  the 
family  circle,  before  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  he  went 
out  into  the  garden.  There  he  and  Liza  strolled  along 
one  of  the  alleys,  while  Lenochka  and  Shurochka 
played  around  the  flower-pots  at  a  little  distance  from 
them. 

Liza  was  as  quiet  as  usual,  but  more  than  usually 
pale.  Sh(?  took  the  folded  leaf  of  the  newspaper  from 
her  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  Lavretsky. 

"  That  is  terrible  news,"  she  said. 

Lavretsky  made  no  reply. 

"  But,  after  all,  perhaps  it  may  not  be  true." 

"  That  is  why  I  asked  you  not  to  mention  it  to  any 
one." 

Liza  walked  on  a  little  farther. 


1 86  Liza. 

"Tell  me,"  she  began,  "are  not  you  sorry? — not  at 
all  sorry  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  myself  what  I  feel,"  answered  La- 
.  vretsky. 

"  But  you  loved  her  once  ?  " 

"  I  did." 

"  Very  much  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  yet  you  are  not  sorry  for  her  death  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  only  now  that  she  has  become  dead  fot 
me." 

"You  are  saying  what  is  sinful.  Don't  be  angry 
with  me.  You  have  called  me  your  friend.  A  friend 
may  say  anything.  And  it  really  seems  terrible  to  me. 
The  expression  on  your  face  yesterday  was  not  good  to 
see.  Do  you  remember  your  complaining  about  her 
not  long  ago  ?  And  at  that  very  time,  perhaps,  she 
was  already  no  longer  among  the  living.  It  is  terri- 
ble. It  is  just  as  if  it  had  been  sent  you  as  a  punish- 
ment." 

Lavretsky  laughed  bitterly. 

"  You  think  so  ? — at  all  events  I  am  free  now." 

Liza  shuddered. 

"Do  not  speak  so  any  more.  What  use  is  your 
freedom  to  you  ?  You  should  not  be  thinking  of  that 
now,  but  of  forgiveness " 

"  I  forgave  her  long  ago,"  interrupted  Lavretsky. 
with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  that,"  answered  Liza,  reddening; 


Liza.  187 

"  you  have  not  understood  me  properly.     It  is  you  who 
ought  to  strive  to  get  pardoned." 

"  Who  is  there  to  pardon  me  ? " 

"  Who  ?  Why  God.  Who  can  pardon  us  except 
God  ? " 

Lavretsky  grasped  her  hand. 

"  Ah !  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  be- 
lieve me,  I  have  already  been  punished  enough — I  have 
already  expiated  all,  believe  me." 

"  You  cannot  tell  that,"  said  Liza,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  You  forget.  It  was  not  long  ago  that  you  and  I  were 
talking,  and  you  were  not  willing  to  forgive  her." 

Both  of  them  walked  along  the  alley  for  a  time  in 
silence. 

"  And  about  your  daughter  ?  "  suddenly  asked  Liza, 
and  then  stopped  short. 

Lavretsky  shuddered. 

"  Oh  !  don't  disturb  yourself  about  her.  I  have  al- 
ready sent  off  letters  in  all  directions.  The  future  of 
my  daughter,  as  you — as  you  say — is  assured.  You 
need  not  trouble  yourself  on  that  score." 

Liza  smiled  sadly. 

"  But  you  are  right,"  continued  Lavretsky.  "  What 
am  I  to  do  with  my  freedom — what  use  is  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  When  did  you  get  this  paper  ?  "  asked  Liza,  with- 
out answering  his  question. 

"The  day  after  your  visit." 

"  And  have  not  you — have  not  you  even  shed  a 
tear  ?  " 


1 88  Liza. 

"  No ;  1  was  thunderstruck.  But  whither  should  I 
look  for  tears  ?  Should  I  cry  over  the  past  ?  Why,  all 
mine  has  been,  as  it  were,  consumed  with  fire.  Her 
fault  did  not  actually  destroy  my  happiness ;  it  only 
oroved  to  me  that  for  me  happiness  had  never  really 
existed.  What,  then,  had  I  to  cry  for  ?  Besides — who 
knows  ? — perhaps  I  should  have  been  more  grieved  if  I 
had  received  this  news  a  fortnight  sooner." 

"  A  fortnight !"  replied  Liza.  "  But  what  can  have 
happened  to  make  such  a  difference  in  that  fortnight  ?" 

Lavretsky  make  no  reply  at  first,  and  Liza  suddenly 
grew  still  redder  than  before. 

"  Yes,  yes !  you  have  guessed  it !  "  unexpectedly 
cried  Lavretsky.  "  In  the  course  of  that  fortnight  I 
have  learnt  what  a  woman's  heart  is  like  when  it  is  pure 
and  clear  ;  and  my  past  life  seems  even  farther  off 
from  me  than  it  used  to  be." 

Liza  became  a  little  uncomfortable,  and  slowly 
turned  to  where  Lenochka  and  Shurochka  were  in  the 
flower-garden. 

"  But  I  am  glad  I  showed  you  that  newspaper,"  said 
Lavretsky,  as  he  followed  her.  "  I  have  grown  accus- 
tomed to  conceal  nothing  from  you,  and  I  hope  you 
•will  confide  in  me  equally  in  return." 

"Do  you  really?"  said  Liza,  stopping  still.  "In 
that  case,  I  ought.  But,  no  !  it  is  impossible." 

"  What  13  it  ?    Tell  me— tell  me ! " 

"  I  really  think  I  ought  not. — However,"  added 
Liza,  turning  to  Lavretsky  with  a  smile,  "  what  is  the 


Liza.  189 

good  of  a  half-confidence  ?  Do  you  know,  I  received  a 
letter  to-day  ? " 

"  From  Panshine  ? " 

"  Yes,  from  him.     How  did  you  guess  that  ?  " 

"  And  he  asks  for  your  hand  ? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Liza,  looking  straight  at  Lavretsky 
with  serious  eyes. 

Lavretsky,  in  his  turn,  looked  seriously  at  Liza. 

"  Well,  and  what  answer  have  you  made  him  ? "  he 
said  at  last. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  answer,"  replied  Liza,  unfold- 
ing her  arms,  and  letting  them  fall  by  her  side. 

"  Why  ?     Do  you  like  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  like  him  ;  I  think  he  is  a  good  man." 

"  That  is  just  what  you  told  me  three  days  ago,  and 
in  the  very  same  words.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is, 
do  you  love  him — love  him  with  that  strong,  passionate 
feeling  which  we  usually  call  '  love  '  ? " 

"  In  the  sense  in  which  you  understand  the  word- 
No." 

"  You  are  not  in  love  with  him  ?  " 

"  No.     But  is  that  necessary  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  Mamma  likes  him,"  continued  Liza.  "  fie  is 
good  :  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  him." 

"  But  still  you  waver  ?  " 

"  Yes — and,  perhaps — you,  your  words  are  the  cause 
of  that.  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  the  day 
before  yesterday  ?  But  all  that  is  weakness " 


190  Liza. 

"  Oh.  my  child !"  suddenly  exclaimed  Lavretsky, 
and  his  voice  trembled  as  he  spoke,  "  don't  be  fatally 
wise — don't  stigmatize  as  weakness  the  cry  of  your 
heart,  unwilling  to  give  itself  away  without  love  !  Do 
not  take  upon  yourself  so  fearful  a  responsibility 
towards  that  man,  whom  you  do  not  love,  and  yet  to 
whom  you  would  be  about  to  belong." 

"  I  shall  only  be  obeying  ;  I  shall  be  taking  nothing 
upon  myself,"  began  Liza. 

"  Obey  your  own  heart,  then.  It  only  will  tell  you 
the  truth,"  said  Lavretsky,  interrupting  her.  "  Wisdom, 
experience — all  that  is  mere  vanity  and  vexation.  Do 
not  deprive  yourself  of  the  best,  the  only  real  happiness 
upon  earth." 

"  And  do  you  speak  in  that  way,  Fedor  Ivanovich  ? 
You  married  for  love  yourself — and  were  you  happy  ? " 

•Lavretsky  clasped  his  hands  above  his  head. 

"  Ah !  do  not  talk  about  me.  You  cannot  form  any 
idea  of  what  a  young,  inexperienced,  absurdly  brought- 
up  boy  may  imagine  to  be  love.  However,  why  should 
one  calumniate-  one's  self?  I  told  you  just  now  I  had 
never  known  happiness.  No  !  I  have  been  happy." 

"  I  think,  Fedor  Ivanovich,"  said  Liza,  lowering  her 
voice — she  always  lowered  her  voice  when  she  differed 
from  the  person  she  was  speaking  to  ;  besides,  she  felt 
considerably  agitated  just  then — "  our  happiness  upon 
earth  does  not  depend  upon  ourselves " 

"  It  does  depend  upon  ourselves — upon  ourselves  : " 
here  he  seized  both  her  hands.  Liza  grew  pale  and 


Liza.  191 

looked  at  him  earnestly,  but  almost  with  alarm — "  at 
least  if  we  do  not  ruin  our  own  lives.  For  some  peo- 
ple a  love  match  may  turn  out  unhappily,  but  not  for 
you,  with  your  calmness  of  temperament,  with  your 
serenity  of  soul.  I  do  beseech  you  not  to  marry  with- 
out love,  merely  from  a  feeling  of  duty,  self-denial,  or 
the  like.  All  that  is  sheer  infidelity,  and  moreover  a 
matter  of  calculation  —  and  worse  still.  Trust  my 
words.  I  have  a  right  to  say  this  ;  a  right  for  which  I 
have  paid  dearly.  And  if  your  God " 

At  that  moment  Lavretsky  became  aware  that  Le- 
nochka  and  Shurochka  were  standing  by  Liza's  side, 
and  were  staring  at  him  with  intense  astonishment.  He 
dropped  Liza's  hands,  saying  hastily,  "  Forgive  me," 
and  walked  away  towards  the  house. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  have  to  ask  you,"  he 
said,  coming  back  to  Liza.  "  Don't  make  up  your  mind 
directly,  but  wait  a  little,  and  think  over  what  I  have 
said  to  you.  And  even  if  you  don't  believe  my  words, 
but  are  determined  to  marry  in  accordance  with  the 
dictates  of  mere  prudence — even  in  that  case,  Mr.  Pan- 
shine  is  not  the  man  you  ought  to  marry.  He  must  not 
be  your  husband.  You  will  promise  me  not  to  be  hasty, 
won't  you  ? " 

Liza  wished  to  reply,  but  she  could  not  utter  a  single 
word.  Not  that  she  had  decided  on  being  "  hasty  " — 
but  because  her  heart  beat  too  strongly,  and  a  feeling 
resembling  that  of  fear  impeded  her  breathing. 


XXVIII. 

As  Lavretsky  was  leaving  the  Kalitines'  house  he 
met  Panshine,  with  whom  he  exchanged  a  cold  greeting. 
Then  he  went  home  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  room. 
The  sensations  he  experienced  were  such  as  he  had 
hardly  ever  known  before.  Was  it  long  ago  that  he  was 
in  a  condition  of  "  peaceful  torpor  ? "  Was  it  long  ago 
that  he  felt  himself,  as  he  had  expressed  it,  "  at  the 
very  bottom  of  the  river  ? "  What  then  had  changed 
his  condition  ?  What  had  brought  him  to  the  surface, 
to  the  light  of  day  ?  Was  the  most  ordinary  and  in- 
evitable, though  always  unexpected,  of  occurrences — 
death  ?  Yes.  But  yet  it  was  not  so  much  his 
•wife's  death,  his  own  freedom,  that  he  was  thinking 
about,  as  this — what  answer  will  Liza  give  to  Panshine  ? 

He  felt  that  in  the  course  of  the  last  three  days  he 
had  begun  to  look  on  Liza  with  different  eyes.  He  re- 
membered how,  when  he  was  returning  home  and  think- 
ing of  her  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  he  said  to  him- 
self "  If  ! "  This  "  if,"  by  which  at  that  time  he  had 

referred  to  the  past,  to  the  impossible,  now  applied  to 
an  actual  state  of  things,  but  not  exactly  such  a  one  as 
he  had  then  supposed.  Freedom  by  itself  was  little  to 
him  now.  "  She  will  obey  her  mother,"  he  thought. 
"She  will  marry  Panshine.  But  even  if  she  refuses 


Liza. 


193 


him — will  it  not  be  just  the  same  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned ? "  Passing  at  that  moment  in  front  of  a  look- 
ing-glass, he  just  glanced  at  his  face  in  it,  and  then 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Amid  such  thoughts  as  these  the  day  passed  swiftly 
by.  The  evening  arrived,  and  Lavretsky  went  to  the 
Kalitines.  He  walked  fast  until  he  drew  near  to  the 
house,  but  then  he  slackened  his  pace.  Panshine's 
carriage  was  standing  before  the  door.  "  Well,"  thought 
Lavretsky,  as  he  entered  the  house,  "  I  will  not  be  self- 
ish." No  one  met  him  in-doors,  and  all  seemed  quiet 
in  the  drawing-room.  He  opened  the  door,  and  found 
that  Madame  Kalitine  was  playing  piquet  with  Pan- 
shine.  That  gentleman  bowed  to  him  silently,  while  the 
lady  of  the  house  exclaimed,  "  Well,  this  is  an  unex- 
pected pleasure,"  and  slightly  frowned.  Lavr^tsky  sat 
down  beside  her  and  began  looking  at  her  cards 

"  So  you  can  play  piquet  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  shade 
of  secret  vexation  in  her  voice,  and  then  remarked  that 
she  had  thrown  away  a  wrong  card. 

Panshine  counted  ninety,  and  began  to  take  up  the 
tricks  calmly  and  politely,  his  countenance  the  while 
wearing  a  grave  and  dignified  expression.  It  was  thus, 
he  thought,  that  diplomatists  ought  to  play.  It  was 
thus,  in  all  probability,  that  he  used  to  play  with  some 
influential  dignitary  at  St.  Petersburg,  whom  he  wished 
to  impress  with  a  favorable  idea  of  his  solidity  and  per- 
spicacity. "  One  hundred  and  one,  hundred  and  two, 
heart,  hundred  and  three,"  said  the  measured  tones  of 
9 


194 

his  voice,  and   Lavretsky  could   not   tell  which  it  ex  • 
pressed — dislike  or  assurance. 

"  Can't  I  see  Marfa  Timofeevna  ? "  asked  Lavretsky, 
observing  that  Panshine,  with  a  still  more  dignified  a'r 
than  before,  was  about  to  shuffle  the  cards ;  not  even  a 
trace  of  the  artist  was  visible  in  him  now. 

"  I  suppose  so.  She  is  up-stairs  in  her  room,"  an- 
swered Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  You  can  ask  for  her." 

Lavretsky  went  up-stairs.  He  found  Marfa  Timo- 
feevna also  at  cards.  She  was  playing  at  Durachki 
with  Nastasia  Carpovna.  Roska  barked  at  him,  but 
both  the  old  ladies  received  him  cordially.  Marfa  Tim- 
ofeevna seemed  in  special  good  humor. 

"  Ah,  Fedia !  "  she.  said,  "  do  sit  down,  there's  a 
good  fellow.  We  shall  have  done  our  game  directly. 
Will  you  have  some  preserves  ?  Shurochka,  give  him  a 
pot  of  strawberries.  You  won't  have  any?  Well,  then, 
sit  there  as  you  are.  But  as  to  smoking,  you  mustn't. 
I  cannot  abide  your  strong  tobacco ;  besides,  it  would 
make  Matros  sneeze." 

Lavretsky  hastened  to  assure  her  that  he  had  noi 
the  slightest  desire  to  smoke. 

"  Have  you  been  down-stairs  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady. 
"  Whom  did  you  find  there  ?  Is  Panshine  always 
hanging  about  there  ?  But  did  you  see  Liza  ?  No  ? 
She  was  to  have  come  here.  Why  there  she  is — as 
soon  as  one  mentions  her." 

Liza  came  into  the  room,  caught  sight  of  Lavretsky 
and  blushed. 


Liza. 


'95 


"  I  have  only  come  for  a  moment,  Marfa  Timofeev- 
na,"  she  was  beginning. 

"  Why  for  a  moment  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady.  "  Why 
are  all  you  young  people  so  restless  ?  You  see  I  have 
a  visitor  there.  Chat  a  little  with  him,  amuse  him." 

Liza  sat  dowji  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  raised  her 
eyes  to  Lavretsky,  and  felt  at  once  that  she  could  not 
do  otherwise  than  let  him  know  how  her  interview  with 
Panshine  had  ended.  But  how  was  that  to  be  man- 
aged ?  She  felt  at  the  same  time  confused  and  ashamed. 
Was  it  so  short  a  time  since  she  had  become  acquainted 
with  that  man,  one  who  scarcely  ever  went  to  church 
even,  and  who  bore  the  death  of  his  wife  so  equably  ? 
and  yet  here  she  was  already  communicating  her  se 
crets  to  him.  It  was  true  that  he  took  an  interest  in 
her ;  and  that,  on  her  side  she  trusted  him,  and  felt 
herself  drawn  towards  him.  But  in  spite  of  all  this,  she 
felt  a  certain  kind  of  modest  shame — as  if  a  stranger 
had  entered  her  pure  maiden  chamber. 

-Marfa  Timofeevna  came  to  her  rescue. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  not  amuse  him,"  she  said,  "  who 
'  is  to  amuse  him,  poor  fellow  ?     I  am  too  old  for  him  ; 
he  is  too  clever  for  me  ;  and  as  to  Nastasia  Carpovna, 
he  is  too  old  for  her.     It's  only  boys  she  cares  for." 

"  How  can  I  amuse  Fedor  Ivanovich  ?  "  said  Liza. 
"  I  would  rather  play  him  something  on  the  piano,  if  he 
likes,"  she  continued  irresolutely. 

"  That's  capital.  You're  a  clever  creature,"  replied 
Marfa  Timofeevna.  "  Go  clown-stairs,  my  dears.  Come 


T9<J  Liza. 

back  again  when  you've  done  ;  but  just  now  here  I'm 
left  the  durachka*  so  I'm  savage.  I  must  have  my  re- 
venge." 

Liza  rose  from  her  chair,  and  so  did  Lavretsky.  As 
she  was  going  down-stairs,  Liza  stopped. 

"  What  they  say  is  true,"  she  began.  "  The  human 
heart  is  full  of  contradictions.  Your  example  ought  to 
have  frightened  me — ought  to  have  made  me  distrust 
marrying  for  love,  and  yet  I " 

"  You've  refused  him  ?  "  said  Lavretsky,  interrupting 
her. 

"  No  ;  but  I  have  not  accepted  him  either.  I  told 
him  every  thing — all  my  feelings  on  the  subject — and  I 
asked  him  to  wait  a  little.  Are  you  satisfied  ? "  she 
asked  with  a  sudden  smile ;  and  letting  her  hand  skim 
lightly  along  the  balustrade,  she  ran  down-stairs. 

"  What  shall  I  play  you  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  opened 
the  piano. 

"  Whatever  you  like,"  answered  Lavretsky,  taking  a 
seat  where  he  could  look  at  her. 

Liza  began  to  play,  and  went  on  for  some  time  with- 
lifting  her  eyes  from  her  fingers.  At  last  she  looked  at 
Lavretsky,  and  stopped  playing.  The  expression  of 
his  face  seemed  so  strange  and  unusual  to  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  asked. 

*  In  the  game  of  durachki,  the  player  who  remains  the  last  is 
called  the  durachok  or  durachka,  diminutive  of  dtirak,  a  fool.  The 
game  somewhat  resembles  our  own  "  Old  Bachelor "  or  "  Old 
Maid." 


Liza.  197 

"Nothing,"  he  replied.  "All  is  well  with  me  at 
present.  I  feel  happy  on  your  account ;  it  makes  me 
glad  to  look  at  you — do  go  on." 

"  I  think,"  said  Liza,  a  few  minutes  later,  "  if  he  had 
really  loved  me  he  would  not  have  written  that  letter ; 
he  ought  to  have  felt  that  I  could  not  answer  him  just- 
now." 

"  That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Lavretsky ;  "  what  does 
matter  is  that  you  do  not  love  him." 

"  Stop  !  What  is  that  you  are  saying  ?  The  image 
of  your  dead  wife  is  always  haunting  me,  and  I  feel 
afraid  of  you." 

"  Doesn't  my  Liza  play  well,  Woldemar  ?  "  Madame 
Kalitine  was  saying  at  this  moment  to  Panshine. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Panshine,  "  exceedingly  well." 

Madame  Kalitine  looked  tenderly  at  her  young 
partner;  but  he  assumed  a  still  more  important  and 
pre-occupied  look,  and  called  fourteen  kings. 


XXIX. 

LAVRETSKY  was  no  longer  a  very  young  man.  He 
could  not  long  delude  himself  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
feeling  with  which  Liza  had  inspired  him.  On  that  day 
he  became  finally  convinced  that  he  was  in  love 
with  her.  That  conviction  did  not  give  him  much 
pleasure. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  he  thought,  "  that  at  five-and-thfrty 
I  have  nothing  else  to  do  than  to  confide  my  heart  a 
second  time  to  a  woman's  keeping  ?  But  Liza  is  not 
like  her.  She  would  not  have  demanded  humiliating 
sacrifices  from  me.  She  would  not  have  led  me  astray 
from  my  occupations.  She  would  have  inspired  me 
herself  with  a  love  for  honorable  hard  work,  and  we 
should  have  gone  forward  together  towards  some  noble 
-end.  Yes,"  he  said,  bringing  his  reflections  to  a  close, 
"  all  that  is  very  well.  But  the  worst  of  it  is  that  she 
will  not  go  anywhere  with  me.  It  was  not  for  nothing 
that  she  told  me  she  was  afraid  of  me.  And  as  to  her 
not  being  in  love  with  Panshine — that  is  but  a  poor 
consolation  !  " 

Lavretsky  went  to  Vasilievskoe  ;  but  he  could  not 
manage  to  spend  even  four  days  there — so  wearisome 
did  it  seem  to  him.  Moreover,  he  was  tormented  by 


Liza.  799 

suspense.  The  news  which  M.  Jules  had  communi- 
cated required  confirmation,  and  he  had  not  yet  received 
any  letters.  He  returned  to  town,  and  passed  the  even- 
ing at  the  Kalitines'.  He  could  easily  see  that  Madame 
Kalitine  had  been  set  against  him ;  but  he  succeeded 
in  mollifying  her  a  little  by  losing  some  fifteen  roubles 
to  her  at  piquet.  He  also  contrived  to  get  half-an-hour 
alone  with  Liza,  in  spite  of  her  mother  having  recom- 
mended her,  only  the  evening  before,  not  to  be  too  inti- 
mate with  a  man  "  gut  a  un  si  grand  ridicule." 

He  found  a  change  in  her.  She  seemed  to  have 
become  more  contemplative.  She  blamed  him  for  stop- 
ping away ;  and  she  asked  him  if  he  would  not  go  to 
church  the  next  day — the  next  day  being  Sunday. 

"  Do  come,"  she  continued,  before  he  had  time  to 
answer.  "  We  will  pray  together  for  the  repose  of  //<?/ 
soul."  Then  she  added  that  she  did  not  know  what  she 
ought  to  do — that  she  did  not  know  whether  she  had 
any  right  to  make  Panshine  wait  longer  for  her  deci 
sion. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Lavretsky. 

"  Because,"  she  replied,  "  I  begin  to  suspect  by  this 
time  what  that  decision  will  be." 

Then  she  said  that  she  had  a  headache,  and  went  to 
her  room,  after  irresolutely  holding  out  the  ends  of  her 
fingers  to  Lavretsky. 

The  next  day  Lavretsky  went  to  morning  service. 
Liza  was  already  in  the  church  when  he  entered.  He 
remarked  her,  though  she  did  not  look  towards  him. 


zoo  Lisa. 

She  prayed  fervently ;    her  eyes  shone    with  a  quiet 
light ;  quietly  she  bowed  and  lifted  her  head. 

He  felt  that  she  was  praying  for  him  also,  and  a 
strange  emotion  filled  his  soul.  The  people  standing 
gravely  around,  the  familiar  faces,  the  harmonious 
chant,  the  odor  of  the  incense,  the  long  rays  slanting 
through  the  windows,  the  very  sombreness  of  the  walls 
and  arches — all  appealed  to  his  heart.  It  was  long 
since  he  had  been  in  church — long  since  he  had  turned 
his  thoughts  to  God.  And  even  now  he  did  not  utter 
any  words  of  prayer — he  did  not  even  pray  without 
words ;  but  nevertheless,  for  a  moment,  if  not  in  body, 
at  least  in  mind,  he  bowed  down  and  bent  himself  hum- 
bly to  the  ground.  He  remembered  how,  in  the  days 
of  his  childhood,  he  always  used  to  pray  in  church  till 
he  felt  on  his  forehead  something  like  a  kind  of  light 
touch.  "  That "  he  used  then  to  think,  "  is  my  guardian 
angel  visiting  me  and  pressing  on  me  the  seal  of  elec- 
tion." He  looked  at  Liza.  "  It  is  you  who  have  brought 
me  here,"  he  thought.  "  Touch  me — touch  my  soul !  " 
Meanwhile,  she  went  o«  quietly  praying.  Her  face 
seemed  to  him  to  be  joyous,  and  once  more  he  felt  soft- 
ened, and  he  asked,  for  another's  soul,  rest — for  his 
own,  pardon.  They  met  outside,  in  the  porch,  and  she 
received  him  with  a  friendly  look  of  serious  happiness. 
The  sun  brightly  lit  up  the  fresh  grass  in  the  church- 
yard and  the  many-colored  dresses  and  kerchiefs  of  the 
women.  The  bells  of  the  neighboring  churches  sounded 
on  high  ;  the  sparrows  chirped  on  the  walls.  Lavret- 


Liza.  201 

sky  stood  by,  smiling  and  bare-headed  ;  a  light  breeze 
played  with  his  hair  and  Liza's,  and  with  the  ends  of 
Liza's  bonnet  strings.  He  seated  Liza  and  her  com- 
panion Lenochka,  in  the  carriage,  gave  away  all  the 
change  he  had  about  him  to  the  beggars,  and  then 
strolled  slowly  home. 


XXX. 

THE  days  which  followed  were  days  of  heaviness  foi 
Lavretsky.  He  felt  himself  in  a  perpetual  fever. 
Every  morning  he  went  to  the  post,  and  impatiently 
tore  open  his  letters  and  newspapers ;  but  in  none  of 
them  did  he  find  anything  which  could  confirm  or  con- 
tradict that  rumor,  on  the  truth  of  which  he  felt  that  so 
much  now  depended.  At  times  he  grew  disgusted 
with  himself.  "  What  am  I,"  he  then  would  think, 
"  who  am  waiting  here,  as  a  raven  waits  for  blood,  for 
certain  intelligence  of  my  wife's  death?" 

He  went  to  the  Kalitines'  every  day  ;  but  even  there 
he  was  not  more  at  his  ease.  The  mistress  of  the 
house  was  evidently  out  of  humor  with  him,  and  treated 
him  with  cold  condescension.  Panshine  showed  him 
exaggerated  politeness  ;  Lemm  had  become  misanthro- 
pical, and  scarcely  even  returned  his  greeting;  and, 
worst  of  all,  Liza  seemed  to  avoid  him.  Whenever  she 
happened  to  be  left  alone  with  him,  she  manifested 
symptoms  of  embarrassment,  instead  of  the  frank  man- 
ner of  former  days.  On  such  occasions  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say  to  him ;  and  even  he  felt  confused. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  days  Liza  had  become  changed 
from  what  he  remembered  her  to  have  been.  In  her 


Lisa.  203 

movements,  in  her  voice,  even  in  her  laugh  itself,  a  se- 
cret uneasiness  manifested  itself — something  different 
from  her  former  evenness  of  temper.  Her  mother,  like 
a  true  egotist,  did  not  suspect  anything;  but  Marfa 
Timofeevna  began  to  watch  her  favorite  closely. 

Lavretsky  often  blamed  himself  for  having  shown 
Liza  the  newspaper  he  had  received ;  he  could  not  help 
being  conscious  that  there  was  something  in  his  state 
of  feeling  which  must  be  repugnant  to  a  very  delicate 
mind.  He  supposed,  moreover,  that  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  Liza  arose  from  a  struggle  with 
herself,  from  her  doubt  as  to  what  answer  she  should 
give  to  Panshine. 

One  day  she  returned  him  a  book — one  of  Walter 
Scott's  novels — which  she  had  herself  asked  him  for. 

"  Have  you  read  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  am  not  in  a  mood  for  books  just  now,"  she 
answered,  and  then  was  going  away.* 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  "  It  is  so  long  since  I 
got  a  talk  with  you  alone.  You  seem  afraid  of  me.  Is 
it  so  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

Lavretsky  said  nothing  for  a  time. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  began  again  presently ;  "  haven't  you 
made  up  your  mind  yet  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  replied,  without  lifting 
her  eyes  from  the  ground. 


204  Liza. 

"  Surely  you  understand  me  ?  " 

Liza  suddenly  reddened. 

"  Don't  ask  me  about  anything !  "  she  exclaimed  with 
animation.  "  I  know  nothing.  I  don't  know  myself." 

And  she  went  hastily  away. 

The  next  day  Lavretsky  arrived  at  the  Kalitines'  after 
dinner,  and  found  all  the  preparations  going  on  there 
for  an  evening  service.  In  a  corner  of  the  dining- 
room,  a  number  of  small  icons*  in  golden  frames,  with 
tarnished  little  diamonds  in  the  aureolas,  were  already 
placed,  against  the  wall  on  a  square  table,  which  was 
covered  with  a  table-cloth  of  unspotted  whiteness.  An 
old  servant,  dressed  in  a  grey  coat  and  wearing  shoes, 
traversed  the  whole  room  deliberately  and  noiselessly, 
placed  two  slender  candle-sticks  with  wax  tapers  in 
them  before  the  icons,  crossed  himself,  bowed,  and  si- 
lently left  the  room. 

The  drawing-room  was  dark  and  empty.  Lavretsky 
went  into  the  dining-room,  and  asked  if  it  was  any  one's 
name-day.t  He  was  told  in  a  whisper  that  it  was  not, 
but  that  a  service  was  to  be  performed  in  accordance 
with  the  request  of  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  and  Marfa 
Timofeevna.  The  miracle-working  picture  was  to  have 
been  brought,  but  it  had  gone  to  a  sick  person  thirty 
versts  off. 

*  Sacred  Pictures. 

f  A  Russian  keeps,  not  his  birthday,  but  his  name-day — that  is. 
the  day  set  apart  by  the  church  in  honor  of  the  saint  after  whore 
he  is  called. 


Liza.  205 

Soon  afterwards  the  priest  arrived  with  his  acolytes 
— a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  large  bald  spot  on  his 
head,  who  coughed  loudly  in  the  vestibule.  The  ladies 
immediately  came  out  of  the  boudoir  in  a  row,  and 
asked  him  for  his  blessing.  Lavretsky  bowed  to  them 
in  silence,  and  they  as  silently  returned  his  greeting. 
The  priest  remained  a  little  longer  where  he  was,  then 
coughed  again,  and  asked,  in  a  low,  deep  voice — 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  begin  ?  " 

"  Begin,  reverend  father,"  replied  Maria  Dmitri- 
evna. 

The  priest  began  to  robe.  An  acolyte  in  a  surplice 
humbly  asked  for  a  coal  from  the  fire.  The  scent  of 
the  incense  began  to  spread  around.  The  footmen  and 
the  maid-servants  came  in  from  the  ante-chamber  and 
remained  standing  in  a  compact  body  at  the  door.  The 
dog  Roska,  which,  as  a  general  rule,  never  came  down- 
stairs from  the  upper  story,  now  suddenly  made  its  ap- 
pearance in  the  dining  room.  The  servants  tried  to 
drive  it  out,  but  it  got  frightened,  first  ran  about,  and 
then  lay  down.  At  last  a  footman  got  hold  of  it  and 
carried  it  off. 

The  service  began.  Lavretsky  retired  into  a  corner. 
His  feelings  were  strange  and  almost  painful.  He 
himself  could  not  well  define  what  it  was  that  he  felt. 
Maria  Dmitrievna  stood  in  front  of  the  rest,  with  an 
arm-chair  behind  her.  She  crossed  herself  carelessly, 
languidly,  like  a  great  lady.  Sometimes  she  looked 
round,  at  others  she  suddenly  raised  her  eyes  to- 


206  Liza. 

wards  the  ceiling.  The  whole  aftair  evidently  bored 
her. 

Marfa  Timofeevna  seemed  pre-occupied.  Nastasia 
Carpovna  bowed  down  to  the  ground,  and  raised  her- 
self up  again,  with  a  sort  of  soft  and  modest  sound. 
As  for  Liza,  she  did  not  stir  from  the  spot  where  she 
was  standing,  she  did  not  change  her  position  upon  it; 
from  the  concentrated  expression  of  her  face,  it  was 
evident  that  she  was  praying  uninterruptedly  and  fer- 
vently. 

At  the  end  of  the  service  she  approached  the  cru- 
cifix, and  kissed  both  it  and  the  large  red  hand  of  the 
priest.  Maria  Dmitrievna  invited  him  to  take  tea.  He 
threw  off  his  stole,  assumed  a  sort  of  mundane  air,  and 
went  into  the  drawing-room  with  the  ladies.  A  conver- 
sation began,  not  of  a  very  lively  nature.  The  priest 
drank  four  cups  of  tea,  wiping  the  bald  part  of  his 
head  the  while  with  his  handkerchief,'  stated  among 
other  things  that  the  merchant  Avoshnikof  had  given 
•several  hundred  roubles  towards  the  gilding  of  the 
church's  "  cumpola,"  and  favored  the  company  with  an 
unfailing  cure  for  freckles. 

Lavretsky  tried  to  get  a  seat  near  Liza,  but  she 
maintained  her  grave,  almost  austere  air,  and  never 
once  looked  at  him.  She  seemed  intentionally  to  ig- 
nore him.  A  kind  of  serious,  cold  enthusiasm  appeared 
to  possess  her.  For  some  reason  or  other  Lavretsky 
felt  inclined  to  smile,  and  to  utter  words  of  jesting;  but 
His  heart  was  ill  at  ease,  and  at  last  he  went  away  in  a 


Liza.  207 

state  of  secret  perplexity.     There   was  something,  he 
felt,  in  Liza's  mind,  which  he  could  not  understand. 

On  another  occasion,  as  Lavretsky  was  sitting  in 
the  drawing-room,  listening  to  the  insinuating  tones  of 
Gedeonovsky's  wearisome  verbiage,  he  suddenly  turned 
round,  he  knew  not  why,  and  caught  the  deep,  attentive, 
inquiring  look  of  Liza's  eyes.  That  enigmatical  look 
was  directed  towards  him.  The  whole  night  long  La- 
vretsky thought  of  it.  His  love  was  not  like  that  of  a 
boy,  nor  was  it  consistent  with  his  age  to  sigh  and  to 
torment  himself;  and  indeed  it  was  not  with  a  feeling 
of  a  merely  passionate  nature  that  Liza  had  inspired 
him.  But  love  has  its  sufferings  for  every  age — and  he 
became  perfectly  acquainted  with  them. 


XXXI. 

ONE  day  Lavretsky  was  as  usual  at  the  Kalitines', 
An  overpoweringly  hot  afternoon  had  been  followed  by 
such  a  beautiful  evening  that  Madame  Kalitine,  not- 
withstanding her  usual  aversion  to  a  draught,  ordered 
all  the  windows  and  the  doors  leading  into  the  garden 
to  be  opened.  Moreover,  she  announced  that  she  was 
not  going  to  play  cards,  that  it  would  be  a  sin  to  do  so 
in  such  lovely  weather,  and  that  it  was  a  duty  to  enjoy 
the  beauties  of  nature. 

Panshine  was  the  only  stranger  present.  Influenced 
by  the  evening,  and  feeling  a  flow  of  artistic  emotion, 
but  not  wishing  to  sing  in  Lavretsky's  presence,  he 
threw  himself  into  poetry  He  read — and  read  well, 
only  with  too  much  consciousness,  and  with  needlessly 
subtle  distinctions — some  of  Lermontof's  poems  (Push- 
kin had  not  then  succeeded  in  getting  back  into  fash- 
Ion).  Suddenly,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  emotion,  he  be- 
gan in  reference  to  the  well-known  Duma*  to  blame 
and  attack  the  new  generation,  not  losing  the  opportu- 
nity which  the  subject  afforded  him  of  setting  forth  how, 
if  the  power  lay  in  his  hands,  he  would  alter  everything 
his  own  way. 

*  For  the  poem,  so-called,  see  note  at  end  of  chapter. 


Liza.  209 

"  Russia,"  he  said,  "has  lagged  behind  Europe,  and 
must  be  driven  up  alongside  of  it.  We  are  told  that 
ours  is  a  young  country.  That  is  all  nonsense.  Be- 
sides., we  have  no  inventive  power.  Khomakof*  him- 
self admits  that  we  have  never  invented  so  much  as  a 
mousetrap.  Consequently  we  are  obliged  to  imitate 
others,  whether  we  like  it  or  no. 

"  '  We  are  ill,'  says  Lermontof,  and  I  agree  with  him. 
But  we  are  ill  because  we  have  only  half  become  Euro- 
peans. With  that  which  has  wounded  us  we  must  be 
cured."  ("  Le  cadastre,"  thought  Lavretsky.)  "  Among 
us,"  he  continued,  "  the  best  heads,  les  meilleures  tetes, 
have  long  been  convinced  of  this.  In  reality,  all  peo- 
ples are  alike  ;  only  introduce  good  institutions,  and  the 
affair  is  settled.  To  be  sure,  one  may  make  some 
allowance  for  the  existing  life  of  the  nation  ;  that  is  our 
business,  the  business  of  the  people  who  are  "  (he  all 
but  said  "  statesmen ")  "  in  the  public  service  ;  but  if 
need  arises,  don't  be  uneasy.  Those  institutions  will 
modify  that  life  itself." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  admiringly  agreed  with  him. 
"  What  a  clever  man  to  have  talking  in  my  house  !  "  she 
thought.  Liza  kept  silence,  leaning  back  in  the  recess 
'of  the  window.  Lavretsky  kept  silence  too.  Marfa 
Timofeevna,  who  was  playing  cards  in  a  corner  with 
her  friend,  grumbled  something  to  herself.  Panshine 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  speaking  well,  but  with 
a  sort  of  suppressed  malice.  It  seemed  as  if  he  was 
blaming,  not  so  much  a  whole  generation,  as  some 
*  A  poet,  who  was  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  Slavophile  party. 


2 1  o  Liza. 

individuals  of  his  acquaintance.  A  nightingale  had 
made  its  home  in  a  large  lilac  bush  which  stood  in  the 
Kalitines'  garden,  and  the  first  notes  of  its  even-song 
made  themselves  heard  during  the  pauses  in  the  elo- 
quent harangue  ;  the  first  stars  began  to  kindle  in  the 
rose-stained  sky  above  the  motionless  tops  of  the  lime 
trees.  Presently  Lavretsky  rose  and  began  to  reply  to 
Panshine.  A  warm  dispute  soon  commenced. 

Lavretsky  spoke  in  defence  of  the  youth  of  Russia, 
and  of  the  capacity  of  the  country  to  suffice  for  itself. 
He  surrendered  himself  and  his  contemporaries,  but  he 
stood  up  for  the  new  generation,  and  their  wishes  and 
convictions.  Panshine  replied  incisively  and  irritably, 
declared  that  clever  people  were  bound  to  reform  every 
thing,  and  at  length  was  carried  away  to  such  an  extent 
that,  forgetting  his  position  as  a  chamberlain,  and  his 
proper  line  of  action  as  a  member  of  the  civil  service, 
he  called  Lavretsky  a  retrogade  conservative,  and  al- 
luded— very  distantly  it  is  true — to  his  false  position  in 
society.  Lavretsky  did  not  lose  his  temper,  nor  did  he 
raise  his  voice ;  he  remembered  that  Mikhalevich  also 
had  called  him  a  retrograde,  and,  at  the  same  time  a 
disciple  of  Voltaire ;  but  he  calmly  beat  Panshine  on 
every  point.  He  proved  the  impracticability  of  reform- 
ing by  sudden  bounds,  and  of  introducing  changes 
haughtily  schemed  on  the  heights  of  official  self-com- 
placency— changes  which  were  not  justified  by  any  inti- 
mate acquaintance  with  the  country,  nor  by  a  living 
faith  in  any  ideal,  not  even  in  one  of  negation,  and  in 
illustration  of  tbis  he  adduced  his  own  education.  He 


demanded  before  every  thing  else  that  the  true  spirit 
of  the  nation  should  be  recognized,  and  that  it  should 
be  looked  up  to  with  that  humility  without  which  no 
courage  is  possible,  not  even  that  wherewith  to  oppose 
falsehood.  Finally  he  did  not  attempt  to  make  any  de- 
fence against  what  he  considered  a  deserved  reproach, 
that  of  giving  way  to  a  wasteful  and  inconsiderate  ex- 
penditure of  both  time  and  strength. 

"  All  that  is  very  fine  !  "  at  last  exclaimed  Panshine 
with  vexation.  "  But  here  are  you,  just  returned  to 
Russia ;  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  To  cultivate  the  soil,"  replied  Lavretsky  ;  "  and  to 
culitivate  it  as  well  as  possible." 

"  No  doubt  that  is  very  praiseworthy,"  answered 
Panshine,  "  and  I  hear  you  have  already  had  great  suc- 
cess in  that  line  ;  but  you  must  admit  that  every  one  is 
not  fitted  for  such  an  occupation " 

"  Une  nature  poetique"  said  Maria  Dmitrievna, 

"  certainly  cannot  go  cultivating  the  soil et  pttis,  it  is 

your  vocation,  Vladimir  Nikolaevich,  to  do  every  thing 
en  grand? 

This  was  too  much  even  for  Panshine,  who  grew 
confused,  and  changed  the  conversation.  He  tried  to 
turn  it  on  the  beauty  of  the  starry  heavens,  on  Schu- 
bert's music,  but  somehow  his  efforts  did  not  prove  suc- 
cessful. He  ended  by  offering  to  play  at  piquet  with 
Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  What !  on  such  an  evening  as 
this?"  she  feebly  objected;  but  then  she  ordered  the 
cards  to  be  brought. 

Panshine  noisily  tore   open  a  new  pack  ;  and  Liza 


212  Liza. 

and  Lavretsky,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  both  rose  from 
their  seats  and  placed  themselves  near  Marfa  Timofeev- 
na.  They  both  suddenly  experienced  a  great  feeling  of 
happiness,  mingled  with  a  sense  of  mutual  dread, 
which  made  them  glad  of  the  presence  of  a  third  per- 
son ;  at  the  same  time,  they  both  felt  that  the  uneasi- 
ness from  which  they  had  suffered  during  the  last  few 
days  had  disappeared,  and  would  return  no  more. 

The  old  lady  stealthily  tapped  Lavretsky  on  the 
cheek,  screwed  up  her  eyes  with  an  air  of  pleasant  ma- 
lice, and  shook  her  head  repeatedly,  saying  in  a  whis- 
per, "  You've  done  for  the  genius — thanks  !  "  Then  all 
became  still  in  the  room.  Nothing  was  to  be  heard  but 
the  faint  crackling  of  the  wax  lights,  and  sometimes  the 
fall  of  a  hand  on  the  table,  or  an  exclamation  on  the  score 
of  points,  and  the  song  of  the  nightingale  which,  pow- 
erful, almost  insolently  loud,  flowed  in  a  great  wave 
through  the  window,  together  with  the  dewy  freshness 
of  the  night. 


NOTE. — The  following  is  a  tolerably  literal  translation  of  the 
poem  of  Lermontof 's  to  which  allusion  is  made  on  p.  208,  and 
which  created  no  slight  sensation  when  it  first  appeared,  in  the  year 
1838:- 

A  THOUGHT. 

Sorrowfully  do  I  look  upon  the  present  generation !  Its  fu- 
ture seems  either  gloomy  or  meaningless,  and  meanwhile,  whether 
under  the  burden  of  knowledge  or  of  d  jubt,  it  grows  old  in  idle« 
ness. 


Liza.  213 

\Vhen  scarcely  out  of  the  cradle,  we  reap  the  rich  inheritance 
of  the  errors  of  our  fathers,  and  the  results  of  their  tardy  thoughts. 
Life  soon  grows  wearisome  for  us,  like  a  banquet  at  a  stranger's 
festival,  like  a  level  road  leading  nowhere. 

In  the  commencement  of  our  career,  we  fall  away  without  a 
struggle,  shamefully  careless  about  right  and  wrong,  shamefully  timid 
in  the  face  of  danger. 

So  does  a  withered  fruit  which  has  prematurely  ripened — at- 
tractive neither  to  the  eye  nor  to  the  palate — hang  like  an  alien 
orphan  among  blossoms ;  and  the  hour  of  their  beauty  is  that  of 
its  fall. 

Our  intellect  has  dried  up  in  the  pursuit  of  fruitless  science, 
while  we  have  been  concealing  the  purest  of  hopes  from  the  know- 
edge  of  those  who  are  near  and  dear  to  us,  and  stifling  the  noble 
utterance  of  such  sentiments  as  are  ridiculed  by  a  mocking  spirit. 

We  have  scarcely  tasted  of  the  cup  of  enjoyment,  but  for  all 
that  we  have  not  husbanded  our  youthful  strength.  While  we 
were  always  in  dread  of  satiety,  we  have  contrived  to  drain  each 
joy  of  its  best  virtues. 

No  dreams  of  poetry,  no  creations  of  art,  touch  our  hearts  with 
a  sweet  rapture.  We  stingily  hoard  up  within  our  breasts  the  last 
remnants  of  feeling — a  treasure  concealed  by  avarice,  and  which 
remains  utterly  unprofitable. 

We  love  and  we  hate  capriciously,  sacrificing  nothing  either  to 
our  animosity  or  to  our  affection,  a  certain  secret  coldness  possess- 
ing our  souls,  even  while  a  fire  is  raging  in  our  veins. 

The  sumptuous  pleasures  of  our  ancestors  weary  us,  as  well 
as  their  simple,  childish  diversions.  Without  enjoying  happiness, 
without  reaping  glory,  we  hasten  onwards  to  the  grave,  casting 
naught  but  unlucky  glances  behind  us. 

A  saturnine  crowd,  soon  to  be  forgotten,  we  silently  pass  away 
from  the  world  and  leave  no  trace  behind,  without  having  handed 
down  to  the  ages  to  come  a  single  work  of  genius,  or  even  a  soli- 
tary thought  laden  with  meaning. 


214  Liza. 

And  our  descendants,  regarding  our  memory  with  the  seventy 
of  citizens  called  to  sit  in  judgment  on  an  affair  concerning  the 
state,  will  allude  to  us  with  the  scathing  irony  of  a  ruined  son, 
when  he  speaks  of  the  father  who  has  squandered  away  his  pat- 
rimony. 


XXXII. 

LIZA  had  not  uttered  a  single  word  during  the  di^ 
pute  between  Lavretsky  and  Panshine,  but  she  had  fol- 
lowed it  attentively,  and  had  been  on  Lavretsky's  side 
throughout.  She  cared  very  little  about  politics ;  but 
she  was  repelled  by  the  self-sufficient  tone  of  the  worldly 
official,  who  had  never  shown  himself  in  that  light  be- 
fore, and  his  contempt  for  Russia  offended  her.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  Liza  to  imagine  that  she  was  a  pat- 
riot. But  she  was  thoroughly  at  her  ease  with  the 
Russian  people.  The  Russian  turn  of  mind  pleased 
her.  She  would  chat  for  hours,  without  thinking  any- 
thing of  it,  with  the  chief  of  the  village  on  her  mother's 
estate,  when  he  happened  to  come  into  town,  and  talk 
with  him  as  if  he  were  her  equal,  without  any  signs  of 
seigneurial  condescension.  All  this  Lavretsky  knew 
well.  For  his  own  part,  he  never  would  have  cared  to 
reply  to  Panshine ;  it  was  only  for  Liza's  sake  that  he 
spoke. 

They  said  nothing  to  each  other,  and  even  their  eyes 
but  rarely  met.  But  they  both  felt  that  they  had  been 
drawn  closer  together  that  evening,  they  knew  that  they 
both  had  the  same  likes  and  dislikes.  On  one  point 
only  were  they  at  variance ;  but  Liza  secretly  hoped  to 


2i6  Liza. 

bring  him  back  to  God.  They  sat  down  close  by  Marfa 
Timofeevna,  and  seemed  to  be  following  her  game; 
nay,  more,  did  actually  follow  it.  But,  meantime,  their 
hearts  grew  full  within  them,  and  nothing  escaped  their 
senses — for  them  the  nightingale  sang  softly,  and  the 
stars  burnt,  and  the  trees  whispered,  steeped  in  slum- 
berous calm,  and  lulled  to  rest  by  the  warmth  and  soft- 
ness of  the  summer  night. 

Lavretsky  gave  himself  up  to  its  wave  of  fascination, 
and  his  heart  rejoiced  within  him.  But  no  words  can 
express  the  change  that  was  being  worked  within  the 
pure  soul  of  the  maiden  by  his  side.  Even  for  herself 
it  was  a  secret ;  let  it  remain,  then,  a  secret  for  all  oth- 
ers also.  No  one  knows,  no  eye  has  seen  or  ever  will 
see.  how  the  grain  which  has  been  confided  to  the 
earth's  bosom  becomes  instinct  with  vitality,  and  ripens 
into  stirring,  blossoming  life. 

Ten  o'clock  struck,  and  Marfa  Timofeevna  went  up- 
stairs to  her  room  with  Nastasia  Carpovna.  Lavretsky 
and  Liza  walked  about  the  room,  stopped  in  front  of 
the  open  door  leading  into  the  garden,  looked  first  into 
the  gloaming  distance  and  then  at  each  other — and 
smiled.  It  seemed  as  if  they  would  so  gladly  have 
taken  each  other's  hands  and  talked  to  their  hearts' 
content. 

They  returned  to  Maria  Dmitrievna  and  Panshine, 
whose  game  dragged  itself  out  to  an  unusual  length. 
At  length  the  last  "  king"  came  to  an  end,  and  Madame 
Kalitine  rose  from  her  cushioned  chair,  sighing,  and 


Liza.  «  217 

uttering  sounds  of  weariness  the  while.  Panshine  took 
his  hat,  kissed  her  hand,  remarked  that  nothing  pre- 
vented more  fortunate  people  from  enjoying  the  night 
or  going  to  sleep,  but  that  he  must  sit  up  till  morning 
over  stupid  papers,  bowed  coldly  to  Liza — with  whom 
he  was  angry,  for  he  had  not  expected  that  she  would 
ask  him  to  wait  so  long  for  an  answer  to  his  proposal — 
and  retired.  Lavretsky  went  away  directly  after  him, 
following  him  to  the  gate,  where  he  took  leave  of  him. 
Panshine  aroused  his  coachman,  poking  him  in  the  neck 
with  the  end  of  his  stick,  seated  himself  in  his  droshky, 
and  drove  away.  But  Lavretsky  did  not  feel  inclined 
to  go  home,  so  he  walked  out  of  the  town  into  the  fields. 

The  night  was  still  and  clear,  although  there  was  no 
moon.  For  a  long  time  Lavretsky  wandered  across  the 
dewy  grass.  A  narrow  footpath  lay  in  his  way,  and  he 
followed  it.  It  led  him  to  a  long  hedge,  in  which  there 
was  a  wicket  gate.  Without  knowing  why  he  did  so,  he 
tried  to  push  it  open ;  with  a  faint  creak  it  did  open, 
just  as  if  it  had  been  awaiting  the  touch  of  his  hand. 
Lavretsky  found  himself  in  a  garden,  took  a  few  steps 
along  a  lime-tree  alley,  and  suddenly  stopped  short  in 
utter  amazement.  He  saw  that  he  was  in  the  Kalitines' 
garden. 

A  thick  hazel  bush  close  at  hand  flung  a  black  patch 
of  shadow  on  the  ground.  Into  this  he  quickly  passed, 
and  there  stood  for  some  time  without  stirring  from  the 
spot,  inwardly  wondering  and  from  time  to  time  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  "  This  has  not  happened  without 
some  purpose,"  he  thought. 
10 


ai8  Liza. 

Around  all  was  still.  From  the  house  not  the 
slightest  sound  reached  him.  He  began  cautiously  to 
advance.  At  the  corner  of  an  alley  all  the  house  sud- 
denly burst  upon  him  with  its  dusky  facade.  In  two 
windows  only  on  the  upper  story  were  lights  glimmer- 
ing. In  Liza's  apartment  a  candle  was  burning  behind 
the  white  blind,  and  in  Marfa  Timofeevna's  bed-room 
glowed  the  red  flame  of  the  small  lamp  hanging  in  front 
of  the  sacred  picture,  on  the  gilded  cover  of  which  it 
was  reflected  in  steady  light.  Down  below,  the  door 
leading  on  to  the  balcony  gaped  wide  open. 

Lavretsky  sat  down  on  a  wooden  bench,  rested  his 
head  on  his  hand,  and  began  looking  at  that  door  and 
at  Liza's  window.  Midnight  sounded  in  the  own  ;  in 
the  house  a  little  clock  feebly  struck  twe  e.  The 
watchman  beat  the  hour  with  quick  stroke,  on  his 
board.  Lavretsky  thought  of  nothing,  expected  noth- 
ing. It  was  pleasant  to  him  to  feel  himself  near  Liza, 
to  sit  in  her  garden,  and  on  the  bench  where  she  also 
often  sat. 

The  light  disappeared  from  Liza's  room. 

"  A  quiet  night  to  you,  dear  girl,"  whispered  Lavret- 
sky, still  sitting  where  he  was  without  moving,  and  not 
taking  his  eyes  off  the  darkened  window. 

Suddenly  a  light  appeared  at  one  of  the  windows  of 
the  lower  story,  crossed  to  another  window,  and  then  to 
a  third.  Some  one  was  carrying  a  candle  through  the 
room.  "  Can  it  be  Liza  ?  It  cannot  be,"  thought  La- 
vretsky. He  rose.  A  well-known  face  glimmered  in 


Liza.  2i<) 

the  darkness,  and  Liza  appeared  in  the  drawing-room, 
wearing  a  white  dress,  her  hair  hanging  loosely  about 
her  shoulders.  Quietly  approaching  the  table,  she 
leant  over  it,  put  down  the  candle  and  began  looking 
for  something.  Then  she  turned  towards  the  garden, 
and  crossed  to  the  open  door;  presently  her  light,  slen- 
der, white-robed  form  stood  still  on  the  threshold. 

A  kind  of  shiver  ran  over  Lavretsky's  limbs,  and  the 
word  "  Liza !  "  escaped  all  but  inaudibly  from  his  lips. 

She  started,  and  then  began  to  peer  anxiously  into 
the  darkness. 

"  Liza !  "  said  Lavretsky  louder  than  before,  and 
came  out  from  the'  shadow  of  the  alley. 

Liza  was  startled.  For  a  moment  she  bent  forward  ; 
then  she  shrank  back.  She  had  recognized  him.  For 
the  third  time  he  called  her,  and  held  out  his  hands  to- 
wards her.  She  passed  out  from  the  doorway  and 
came  into  the  garden. 

"  You  !  "  she  said.     "  You  here  !  " 

"  I — I Come  and  hear  what  I  have  to  say,' 

whispered  Lavretsky ;  and  then,  taking  her  hand,  he  led 
her  to  the  bench. 

She  followed  him  without  a  word  ;  but  her  pale  face, 
her  fixed  look,  and  all  her  movements,  testified  her  un 
utterable  astonishment.  Lavretsky  made  her  sit  down 
on  the  bench,  and  remained  standing  in  front  of  her. 

"  I  did  not  think  of  coining  here,"  he  began.  "  I 
was  led  here I — I — I  love  you,"  he  ended  by  say- 
ing, feeling  very  nervous  in  spite  of  himself. 


22c  Liza. 

Liza  slowly  looked  up  at  him.  It  seemed  as  if  i! 
had  not  been  till  that  moment  that  she  understood 
where  she  was,  and  what  was  happening  to  her.  She 
would  have  risen,  but  she  could  not.  Then  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"  Liza !  "  exclaimed  Lavretsky  ;  "  Liza !  "  he  repeat- 
ed, and  knelt  down  at  her  feet. 

A  slight  shudder  ran  over  her  shoulders ;  she 
pressed  the  fingers  of  her  white  hands  closer  to  her 
face. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Lavretsky.  Then  he  heard  a  low 
sound  of  sobbing,  and  his  heart  sank  within  him.  He 
understood  the  meaning  of  those  tears. 

"  Can  it  be  that  you  love  me  ?  "  he  whispered,  with 
a  caressing  gesture  of  the  hand. 

"  Stand  up,  stand  up,  Fedor  Ivanovich,"  she  at  last 
succeeded  in  saying.  "  What  are  we  doing  ?  " 

He  rose  from  his  knees,  and  sat  down  by  her  side 
on  the  bench.  She  was  no  longer  crying,  but  her  eyes, 
as  she  looked  at  him  earnestly,  were  wet  with  tears. 

"  I  am  frightened  !  What  are  we  doing  ?  "  she  said 
again. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  repeated.  "  I  am  ready  to  give  my 
whole  life  for  you." 

She  shuddered  again,  just  as  if  something  had  stung 
her,  then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"That  is  entirely  in  the  hands  of  God,"  she  re 
plied. 

"But  you  love  me,  Liza?  We  are  going  to  be 
happy  ? " 


Liza.  „      221 

She  let  fall  her  eyes.  He  softly  drew  her  to  him- 
self, and  her  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder.  He  bent 
his  head  a  little  aside,  and  kissed  her  pale  lips. 

Half  an  hour  later  Lavretsky  was  again  standing 
before  the  garden  gate.  He  found  it  closed  now  and 
was  obliged  to  get  over  the  fence.  He  returned  into 
the  town,  and  walked  along  its  sleeping  streets.  His 
heart  was  full  of  happiness,  intense  and  unexpected ;  all 
misgiving  was  dead  within  him.  "  Disappear,  dark 
spirit  of  the  Past !"  he  said  to  himself.  "  She  loves  me. 
She  will  be  mine." 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  hear  strange  triumphal 
sounds  floating  in  the  air  above  his  head.  He  stopped. 
With  greater  grandeur  than  before  the  sounds  went 
clanging  forth.  With  strong,  sonorous  stream  did  they 
flow  along — and  in  them,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  all  his 
happiness  spoke  and  sang.  He  looked  round.  The 
sounds  came  from  the  two  upper  windows  of  a  smal1 
house. 

"  Lemm  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  ran  up  to  the  door  of 
the  house.  "  Lemm,  Lemm  !  "  he  repeated  loudly. 

The  sounds  died  away,  and  the  form  of  the  old  man, 
wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown,  with  exposed  chest  and 
wildly  floating  hair,  appeared  at  the  window. 

"  Ha  !  it  is  you,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  importance. 

"  Christophor  Fedorovich,  what  wonderful  music ! 
For  heaven's  sake  let  me  in  !  " 

The  old  man  did  not  say  a  word,  but  with  a  digni- 


222  Liza. 

fied  motion  of  the  hand  he  threw  the  key  of  the  dooi 
out  of  the  window  into  the  street.  Lavretsky  hastily 
ran  up-stairs,  entered  the  room,  and  was  going  to  fling 
himself  into  Lemm's  arms.  But  Lemm,  with  a  gesture 
of  command,  pointed  to  a  chair,  and  said  sharpijr  in 
his  incorrect  Russian,  "  Sit  down  and  listen,"  then  took 
his  seat  at  the  piano,  looked  round  with  a  proud  and 
severe  glance,  and  began  to  play. 

Lavretsky  had  heard  nothing  like  it  for  a  long  time 
indeed.  A  sweet,  passionate  melody  spoke  to  the 
heart  with  its  very  first  notes.  It  seemed  all  thoroughly 
replete  with  sparkling  light,  fraught  with  inspiration, 
with  beauty,  and  with  joy.  As  it  rose  and  sank  it 
seemed  to  speak  of  all  that  is  dear,  and  secret,  and 
holy,  on  earth.  It  spoke  too  of  a  sorrow  that  can  never 
end,  and  then  it  went  to  die  away  in  the  distant  heaven. 

Lavretsky  had  risen  from  his  seat  and  remained 
standing,  rooted  to  the  spot,  and  pale  with  rapture. 
Those  sounds  entered  very  readily  into  his  heart ;  for  it 
had  just  been  stirred  into  sensitiveness  by  the  touch  of 
a  happy  love,  and  they  themselves  were  glowing  with 
love. 

"  Play  it  again,"  he  whispered,  as  soon  as  the  last 
final  chord  had  died  away. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  an  eagle's  glance, 
and  said  slowly,  in  his  native  tongue,  striking  his  breast 
with  his  hand,  "  It  is  I  who  wrote  that,  for  I  am  a  great 
musician,"  and  then  he  played  once  more  his  wonderful 
composition. 


Liza. 


223 


There  were  no  lights  in  the  room,  but  the  rays  of 
the  rising  moon  entered  obliquely  through  the  window. 
The  listening  air  seemed  to  tremble  into  music,  and  the 
poor  little  apartment  looked  like  a  sanctuary,  while  the 
silvery  half-light  gave  to  the  head  of  the  old  man  a  noble 
and  spiritual  expression. 

Lavretsky  came  up  to  him  and  embraced  him.  At 
first  Lemm  did  not  respond  to  his  embrace — even  put 
him  aside  with  his  elbow.  Then  he  remained  rigid  for 
some  time,  without  moving  any  of  his  limbs,  wearing 
the  same  severe,  almost  repellent,  look  as  before,  and 
only  growling  out  twice,  "  Aha  !  "  But  at  last  a  change 
came  over  him,  his  face  grew  calm,  and  his  head  was 
no  longer  thrown  back.  Then,  in  reply  to  Lavretsky's 
warm  congratulations,  he  first  smiled  a  little,  and  after- 
wards began  to  cry,  sobbing  faintly,  like  a  child. 

"It  is  wonderful,"  he  said,  "  your  coming  just  at  this 
very  moment.  But  I  know  every  thing — I  know  all 
about  it." 

"You  know  every  thing  ?"  exclaimed  Lavretsky  in 
astonishment. 

"  You  have  heard  what  I  said,"  replied  Lemm. 
"  Didn't  you  understand  that  I  knew  every  thing  ?  " 

Lavretsky  did  not  get  to  sleep  till  the  morning. 
All  night  long  he  remained  sitting  on  the  bed.  Neither 
did  Liza  sleep.  She  was  praying. 


xxxni. 

THE  reader  knows  how  Lavretsky  had  been  brought 
up  and  educated.  We  will  now  say  a  few  words  about 
Liza's  education.  She  was  ten  years  old  when  her 
father  died,  who  had  troubled  himself  but  little  about 
her.  Overwhelmed  with  business,  constantly  absorbed 
in  the  pursuit  of  adding  to  his  income,  a  man  of  bilious 
temperament  and  a  sour  and  impatient  nature,  he  never 
grudged  paying  for  the  teachers  and  tutors,  or  for  the 
dress  and  the  other  necessaries  required  by  his  children, 
but  he  could  not  bear  "to  nurse  his  squallers,"  accord- 
ing to  his  own  expression — and,  indeed,  he  never  had 
any  time  for  nursing  them.  He  used  to  work,  become 
absorbed  in  business,  sleep  a  little,  play  cards  on  rare 
occasions,  then  work  again.  He  often  compared  him- 
self to  a  horse  yoked  to  a  threshing  machine.  "  My 
life  has  soon  been  spent,"  he  said  on  his  death-bed,  a 
bitter  smile  contracting  his  lips. 

As  to  Maria  Dmitrievna,  she  really  troubled  herself 
about  Liza  very  little  more  than  her  husband  did,  for 
all  that  she  had  taken  credit  to  herself,  when  speaking 
to  Lavretsky,  for  having  educated  her  children  herself. 
J5he  used  to  dress  her  like  a  doll,  and  when  visitors 
were  present,  she  would  caress  her  and  call  her  a  good 


Liza. 


225 


child  and  her  darling,  and  that  was  all.  Every  contin- 
uous care  troubled  that  indolent  lady. 

During  her  father's  lifetime,  Liza  was  left  in  the 
hands  of  a  governess,  a  Mademoiselle  Moreau,  from 
Paris ;  but  after  his  death  she  passed  under  the  care  of 
Marfa  Timofeevna.  That  lady  is  already  known  to  the 
reader.  As  for  Mademoiselle  Moreau,  she  was  a  very 
small  woman,  much  wrinkled,  and  having  the  manners 
of  a  bird,  and  the  character  of  a  bird  also.  In  her 
youth  she  had  led  a  very  dissipated  life ;  in  her  old  age 
she  retained  only  two  passions — the  love  of-  dainties 
and  the  love  of  cards.  When  her  appetite  was  satiated, 
and  when  she  was  not  playing  cards  or  talking  non- 
sense, her  countenance  rapidly  assumed  an  almost 
death-like  expression.  She  would  sit  and  gaze  and 
breathe,  but  it  was  plain  that  there  was  not  a  single  idea 
stirring  in  her  mind.  She  could  not  even  be  called 
good ;  goodness  is  not  an  attribute  of  birds.  In  con- 
sequence either  of  her  frivolous  youth  or  of  the  «tfr  of 
Paris,  which  she  had  breathed  from  her  childhood's 
days,  there  was  rooted  in  her  a  kind  of  universal  scep- 
ticism, which  usually  found  expression  in  the  words, 
"  Tout  (a  c1  est  des  betises."  She  spoke  an  incorrect,  but 
purely  Parisian  jargon,  did  not  talk  scandal,  and  had 
no  caprices — what  more  could  one  expect  from  a  gov- 
erness ?  Over  Liza  she  had  but  little  influence.  All 
the  more  powerful,  then,  was  the  influence  exercised 
over  the  child  by  her  nurse,  Agafia  Vlasievnja. 

That  woman's  story  was  a  remarkable  one.  She 
10* 


226  Liza. 

sprang  from  a  family  of  peasants,  and  was  married  at 
sixteen  to  a  peasant ;  but  she  stood  out  in  sharp  relief 
against  the  mass  of  her  peasant  sisters.  As  a  child,  she 
had  been  spoilt  by  her  father,  who  had  been  for  twenty 
years  the  head  of  his  commune,  and  who  had  made  a 
good  deal  of  money.  She  was  singularly  beautiful, 
and  for  grace  and  taste  she  was  unsurpassed  in  the 
whole  district,  and  she  was  intelligent,  eloquent,  and 
courageous.  Her  master,  Dmitry  Pestof,  Madame 
Kalitine's  father,  a  quiet  and  reserved  man,  saw  her 
one  day  on  the  threshing-floor,  had  a  talk  with  her,  and 
fell  passionately  in  love  with  her.  Soon  after  this  she 
became  a  widow.  Pestof,  although  he  was  a  married 
man,  took  her  into  his  house,  and  had  her  dressed  like 
one  of  the  household.  Agafia  immediately  made  her- 
self at  home  in  her  new  position,  just  as  if  she  had 
never  led  a  different  kind  of  life.  Her  complexion 
grew  fairer,  her  figure  became  more  rounded,  and  her 
arms,  under  their  muslin  sleeves,  showed  "  white  as 
wheat-flour,"  like  those  of  a  wealthy  tradesman's  wife. 
The  samovar  never  quitted  her  table  ;  she  would  wear 
nothing  but  silks  and  velvets  ;  she  slept  on  feather-beds^ 
of  down. 

This  happy  life  lasted  five  years ;  then  Dmitry  Pes- 
tof died.  His  widow,  a  lady  of  a  kindly  character,  re- 
spected the  memory  of  her  late  husband  too  much  to 
wish  to  treat  her  rival  with  ignominy,  especially  as 
Agafia  had  never  forgotten  herself  in  her  presence ', 
but  she  married  her  to  a  herdsman,  and  sent  her  away 


Liza.  227 

from  her  sight.  Three  years  passed  by.  One  hot  sum- 
mer day  the  lady  happened  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  cattle- 
yard.  Agafia  treated  her  to  such  a  cool  dish  of  rich 
cream,  behaved  herself  so  modestly,  and  looked  so  clean, 
so  happy,  so  contented  with  every  thing,  that  her  mis- 
tress informed  her  that  she  was  pardoned,  and  allowed 
her  to  return  into  the  house.  Before  six  months  had 
passed,  the  lady  had  become  so  attached  to  her  that 
she  promoted  her  to  the  post  of  housekeeper,  and  con- 
fided all  the  domestic  arrangements  to  her  care.  Thus 
A.gafia  came  back  into  power,  and  again  became  fair 
and  plump.  Her  mistress  trusted  her  implicitly. 

So  passed  five  more  years.  Then  misfortune  came 
a  second  time  on  Agafia.  Her  husband,  for  whom  she 
had  obtained  a  place  as  footman,  took  to  drink,  began 
to  absent  himself  from  the  house,  and  ended  by  steal- 
ing half-a-dozen  of  his  mistress's  silver  spoons  and 
hiding  them,  till  a  fitting  opportunity  should  arise  for 
carrying  them  off  in  his  wife's  box.  The  theft  was 
found  out.  He  was  turned  into  a  herdsman  again,  and 
Agafia  fell  into  disgrace.  She  was  not  dismissed  from 
the  house,  but  she  was  degraded  from  the  position  of 
housekeeper  to  that  of  a  needle-woman,  and  she  was 
ordered  to  wear  a  handkerchief  on  her  head  instead  of 
a  cap.  To  every  one's  astonishment,  Agafia  bore  the 
punishment  inflicted  on  her  with  calm  humility.  By 
this  time  she  was  about  thirty  years  old,  all  her  children 
were  dead,  and  her  husband  soon  afterwards  died  also. 
The  season  of  reflection  had  arrived  for  her,  and  she 


228  Liza. 

did  reflect.  She  became  very  silent  and  very  devout, 
never  once  letting  matins  or  mass  go  unheeded  by,  and 
she  gave  away  all  her  fine  clothes.  For  fifteen  years 
she  led  a  quiet,  grave,  peaceful  life,  quarrelling  with  no 
one,  giving  way  to  all.  If  any  one  spoke  to  her  harshly, 
she  only  bent  her  head  and  returned  thanks  for  the  les- 
son. Her  mistress  had  forgiven  her  long  ago,  and  had 
taken  the  ban  off  her — had  even  given  her  a  cap  off 
her  own  head  to  wear.  But  she  herself  refused  to  doff 
her  handkerchief,  and  she  would  never  consent  to  wear 
any  but  a  sombre-colored  dress.  After  the  death  of 
her  mistress  she  became  even  more  quiet  and  more 
humble  than  before.  It  is  easy  to  work  upon  a  Rus- 
sian's fears  and  to  secure  his  attachment,  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  acquire  his  esteem  ;  that  he  will  not  readily  give, 
nor  will  he  give  it  to  every  one.  But  the  whole  house- 
hold esteemed  Agafia.  No  one  even  so  much  as  re- 
membered her  former  faults  ;  it  was  as  if  they  had  been 
buried  in  the  grave  with  her  old  master. 

When  Kalitine  married  Maria  Dmitrievna,  he  want- 
ed to  entrust  the  care  of  his  household  to  Agafia ;  but 
she  refused,  "  on  account  of  temptation."  He  began 
to  scold  her,  but  she  only  bowe.d  low  and  left  the 
room.  The  shrewd  Kalitine  generally  understood  peo- 
ple ;  so  he  understood  Agafia's  character,  and  did  not 
ose  sight  of  her.  When  he  settled  in  town,  he  ap- 
pointed her,  with  her  consent,  to  the  post  of  nurse  to 
Liza,  who  was  then  just  beginning  her  fifth  year. 

At   first  Liza  was  frightened  by  the  serious,  even 


Liza.  229 

severe,  face  of  her  new  nurse ;  but  she  soon  became 
accustomed  to  her,  and  learned  to  love  her  warmly. 
,The  child  was  of  a  serious  disposition  herself.  Her 
features  called  to  mind  Kalitine's  regular  and  finely- 
moulded  face,  but  her  eyes  were  not  like  those  of  her 
father ;  they  shone  with  a  quiet  light,  expressive  of  an 
earnest  goodness  that  is  rarely  seen  in  children.  She 
did  not  care  about  playing  with  dolls  ;  she  never  laughed 
loudly  nor  long,  and  a  feeling  of  self-respect  always 
manifested  itself  in  her  conduct.  It  was  not  often  that 
she  fell  into  a  reverie,  but  when  she  did  so  there  was 
almost  always  good  reason  for  it ;  then  she  would  keep 
silence  for  a  time,  but  generally  ended  by  addressing  to 
some  person  older  than  herself  a  question  which  showed 
that  her  mind  had  been  working  under  the  influence  of 
a  new  impression.  She  very  soon  got  over  her  child- 
ish lisp,  and  even  before  she  was  four  years  old  she 
spoke  with  perfect  distinctness.  She  was  afraid  of  her 
father.  As  for  her  mother,  she  regarded  her  with  a 
feeling  which  she  could  scarcely  define,  not  being  afraid 
of  her,  but  not  behaving  towards  her  caressingly.  As 
for  that,  she  did  not  caress  even  her  nurse,  although 
she  loved  her  with  her  whole  heart.  She  and  Agafia 
were  never  apart.  It  was  curious  to  see  them  together. 
Agafia,  all  in  black,  with  a  dark  handkerchief  on  her 
head,  her  face  emaciated  and  of  a  wax-like  transpa- 
rency, but  still  beautiful  and  expressive,  would  sit  erect 
on  her  chair,  knitting  stockings.  At  her  feet  Liza  would 
be  sitting  on  a  little  stool,  also  engaged  in  some  work, 


230 

.or,  her  clear  eyes  uplifted  with  a  serious  expression, 
Jistening  to  what  Agafia  was  telling  her.  Agafia  nevei 
told  her  nursery  tales.  With  a  calm  and  even  voice,' 
she  used  to  tell  her  about  the  life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
or  the  lives  of  the  hermits  and  people  pleasing  to  God, 
or  about  the  holy  female  martyrs.  She  would  tell  Liza 
how  the  saints  lived  in  the  deserts ;  how  they  worked 
out  their  salvation,  enduring  hunger  and  thirst;  and 
how  they  did  not  fear  kings,  but  confessed  Christ ;  and 
how  the  birds  of  the  air  brought  them  food,  and  the 
wild  beasts  obeyed  them  ;  how  from  those  spots  where 
their  blood  had  fallen  flowers  sprang  up.  ("  Were  they 
carnations  ? "  once  asked  Liza,  who  was  very  fond  of 
flowers.)  Agafia  spoke  about  these  things  to  Liza  seri- 
ously and  humbly,  as  if  she  felt  that  it  .was  not  for  her 
to  pronounce  such  grand  and  holy  words  :  and  as  Liza 
listened  to  her,  the  image  of  the  Omnipresent,  Omnis- 
cient God  entered  with  a  sweet  influence  into  her  very 
soul,  filling  her  with  a  pure  and  reverend  dread,  and 
Christ  seemed  to  her  to  be  close  to  her,  and  to  be  a 
friend,  almost,  as  it  were,  a  relation.  It  was  Agafia, 
.also,  who  taught  her  to  pray.  Sometimes  she  awoke 
Liza  at  the  early  dawn,  dressed  her  hastily,  and  secretly 
conveyed  her  to  matins.  Liza  would  follow  her  on  tip- 
toe, scarcely  venturing  to  breathe.  The  cold,  dim 
morning  light,  the  raw  air  pervading  the  almost  empty 
church,  the  very  secrecy  of  those  unexpected  excur- 
sions, the  cautious  return  home  to  bed — all  that  combi- 
nation of  the  forbidden,  the  strange,  the  holy,  thrilled 


Lisa.  ,231 

the  young  girl,  penetrated  to  the  inmost  depths  of  hei 
being. 

Agafia  never  blamed  any  one,  and  she  never  scolded 
Liza  for  any  childish  faults.  When  she  was  dissatisfied 
about  anything,  she  merely  kept  silence,  and  Liza  al- 
ways understood  that  silence.  With  a  child's  quick 
instinct,  she  also  knew  well  when  Agafia  was  dissatisfied 
with  others,  whether  it  were  with  Maria  Dmitrievna  or 
with  Kalitine  himself. 

For  rather  more  than  three  years  Agafia  waited  upon 
Liza.  She  was  replaced  by  Mademoiselle  Moreau ;  but 
the  frivolous  Frenchwoman,  with  her  dry  manner  and 
her  constant  exclamation,  Tout  (a  c'est  des  betises ! 
could  not  expel  from  Liza's  heart  the  recollection  of 
her  much-loved  nurse.  The  seeds  that  had  been  sown 
had  pushed  their  roots  too  far  for  that.  After  that  Aga- 
fia, although  she  had  ceased  to  attend  Liza,  remained 
for  some  time  longer  in  the  house,  and  often  saw  her 
pupil,  and  treated  her  as  she  had  been  used  to  do. 

But  when  Marfa  Timofeevna  entered  the  Kalitines' 
house,  Agafia  did  not  get  on  well  with  her.  The  austere 
earnestness  of  the  former  "  wearer  of  the  coarse  petti- 
coat." *  did  not  please  the  impatient  and  self-willed  old 
lady.  Agafia  obtained  leave  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage,  and 
she  never  came  back.  Vague  rumors  asserted  that  she 
had  retired  into  a  schismatic  convent.  But  the  impres- 
sion left  by  her  on  Liza's  heart  did  not  disappear.  Just 

*  The  Panovnitsa  ,  or  wearer  of  the  Panovna,  a  sort  of  petti- 
coat made  of  a  coarse  stuff  of  motley  hue. 


232  Liza. 

as  before,  the  girl  went  to  mass,  as  if  she  weie  going  to 
a  festival ;  and  when  in  church  prayed  with  enthusiasm, 
with  a  kind  of  restrained  and  timid  rapture,  at  which 
her  mother  secretly  wondered  not  a  little.  Even  Marfa 
Timofeevna,  although  she  never  put  any  constraint 
upon  Liza,  tried  to  induce  her  to  moderate  her  zeal, 
and  would  not  let  her  make  so  many  prostrations.  It 
rras  not  a  lady-like  habit,  she  said. 

Liza  was  a  good  scholar,  that  is,  a  persevering  one  ; 
she  was  not  gifted  with  a  profound  intellect,  or  with 
extraordinarily  brilliant  faculties,  and  nothing  yielded  to 
her  without  demanding  from  her  no  little  exertion. 
She  was  a  good  pianiste,  but  no  one  else,  except  Lemm, 
knew  how  much  that  accomplishment  had  cost  her. 
She  did  not  read  much,  and  she  had  no  "  words  of  her 
own  ;  "  but  she  had  ideas  of  her  own,  and  she  went  her 
own  way.  In  this  matter,  as  well  as  in  personal  appear- 
ance, she  may  have  taken  after  her  father,  for  he  never 
used  to  ask  ar>y  one's  advice  as  to  what  he  should  do. 

And  so  she  grew  up,  and  so  did  her  life  pass,  gently 
and  tranquilly,  until  she  had  attained  her  nineteenth 
year.  She  was  very  charming,  but  she  was  not  con- 
scious of  the  fact.  In  all  her  movements,  a  natural, 
somewhat  unconventional,  grace,  revealed  itself ;  in  her 
voice  there  sounded  the  silver  notes  of  early  youth. 
The  slightest  pleasurable  sensation  would  bring  a  fas- 
cinating smile  to  her  lips,  and  add  a  deeper  light,  a 
kind  of  secret  tenderness,  to  her  already  lustrous  eyes, 
Kind  and  soft-hearted,  thoroughly  penetrated  by  a  feel- 


Liza.  233 

ing  of  duty,  and  a  fear  of  injuring  any  one  in  any  way, 
she  was  attached  to  all  whom  she  knew,  but  to  no  one 
person  in  particular.  To  God  alone  did  she  consecrate 
her  love — loving  Him  with  a  timid,  tender  enthusiasm. 
Until  Lavretsky  came,  no  one  had  troubled  the  calm- 
ness of  her  inner  life. 
Such  was  Liza. 


XXXIV. 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  the  next  day  Lavretsky  went 
to  the  Kalitines'.  On  his  way  there  he  met  Panshine, 
who  galloped  past  on  horseback,  his  hat  pulled  low  over 
his  eyes.  At  the  Kalitines',  Lavretsky  was  not  admit- 
ted, for  the  first  time  since  he  had  made  acquaintance 
with  the  family.  Maria  Dmitrievna  was  asleep,  the 
footman  declared  ;  her  head  ached.  Marfa  Timofeevna 
and  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  were  not  at  home. 

Lavretsky  walked  round  the  outside  of  the  garden 
in  the  vague  hope  of  meeting  Liza,  but  he  saw  no  one. 
Two  hours  later  he  returned  to  the  house,  but  received 
the  same  answer  as  before ;  moreover,  the  footman 
looked  at  him  in  a  somewhat  marked  manner.  Lavret- 
sky thought  it  would  be  unbecoming  to  call  three  times 
in  one  day,  so  he  determined  to  drive  out  to  Vasiliev- 
skoe,  where,  moreover,  he  had  business  to  transact. 

On  his  way  there  he  framed  various  plans,  each  one 
more  charming  than  the  rest.  But  on  his  arrival  at  his 
aunt's  estate,  sadness  took  hold  of  him.  He  entered 
into  conversation  with  Anton ;  but  the  old  man,  as  if 
purposely,  would  dwell  on  none  but  gloomy  ideas.  He 
told  Lavretsky  how  Glafira  Petrovna,  just  before  her 


Liza.  235 

death,  had  bitten  her  own  hand.  And  then,  after  an 
interval  of  silence,  he  added  with  a  sigh,  "  Every  man, 
barin  batyushka*  is  destined  to  devour  himself." 

It  was  late  in  the  clay  before  Lavretsky  set  out  on 
his  return.  The  music  he  had  heard  the  night  before 
came  back  into  his  mind,  and  the  image  of  Liza  dawned 
on  his  heart  in  all  its  sweet  serenity.  He  was  touched 
by  the  thought  that  she  loved  him  ;  and  he  arrived  at 
his  little  house  in  the  town,  tranquillized  and  happy. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  him  when  he  entered  the 
vestibule,  was  a  smell  of  patchouli,  a  perfume  he  dis- 
liked exceedingly.  He  observed  that  a  number  of  large 
trunks  and  boxes  were  standing  there,  and  he  thought 
there  was  a  strange  expression  on  the  face  of  the  ser- 
vant who  hastily  came  to  meet  him.  He  did  not  stop  to 
analyze  his  impressions,  but  went  straight  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

A  lady,  who  wore  a  black  silk  dress  with  flounces, 
and  whose  pale  face  was  half  hidden  by  a  cambric 
handkerchief,  rose  from  the  sofa,  took  a  few  steps  to 
meet  him,  bent  her  carefully-arranged  and  perfumed 
locks — and  fell  at  his  feet.  Then  for  the  first  time,  he 
recognized  her.  That  lady  was  his  wife  ! 

His  breathing  stopped.     He  leaned  against  the  wall. 

"  Do  not  drive  me  from  you,  Theodore  !  "  she  said 
in  French  ;  and  her  voice  cut  him  to  the  heart  like  a 
knife.  He  looked  at  her  without  comprehending  what 

*  Seigneur,  father.  „ 


236 

he  saw,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  he  involuntarily  re- 
marked that  she  had  grown  paler  and  stouter. 

"  Theodore  !  "  she  continued,  lifting  her  eyes  from 
time  to  time  towards  heaven,  her  exceedingly  pretty 
ringers,  tipped  with  polished  nails  of  rosy  hue,  writhing 
the  while  in  preconcerted  agonies' — "  Theodore,  I  am 
guilty  before  you — deeply  guilty.  I  will  say  more — I 
am  a  criminal ;  but  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I  am  tor- 
tured by  remorse  ;  I  have  become  a  burden  to  myself; 
I  can  bear  my  position  no  longer.  Ever  so  many  times 
I  have  thought  of  addressing  you,  but  I  was  afraid  of 
your  anger.  But  I  have  determined  to  break  every  tie 

with  the  past puis,fai  6ti  si  malade.     I  was  so  ill," 

she  added,  passing  her  hand  across  her  brow  and  cheek, 
"  I  took  advantage  of  the  report  which  was  spread 
abroad  of  my  death,  and  I  left  everything.  Without 
stopping  anywhere,  I  travelled  day  and  night  to  come 
here  quickly.  For  a  long  time  I  was  in  doubt  whether 
to  appear  before  you,  my  judge — paraitre  devant  vous 
mon  juge ;  but  at  last  I  determined  to  go  to  you,  re- 
membering your  constant  goodness.  I  found  out  your 
address  in  Moscow.  Believe  me,"  she  continued,  quiet- 
ly rising  from  the  ground  and  s'eating  herself  upon  the 
very  edge  of  an  arm-chair,  "  I  often  thought  of  death, 
and  I  could  have  found  sufficient  courage  in  my  heart 
to  deprive  myself  of  life  —  ah  !  life  is  an  intolerable 
burden  to  me  now — but  the  thought  of  my  child,  my 
little  Ada,  prevented  me.  She  is  here  now  ;  she  is 
asjeep  in  the  next  room,  poor  child.  She  is  tired  out 


Liza.  237 

You  will  see  her,  won't  you  ?  She,  at  all  events,  is 
innocent  before  you ;  and  so  unfortunate — so  unfortu- 
nate !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Lavretsky,  and  melted  into 
tears. 

Lavretsky  regained  his  consciousness  at  last.  He 
stood  away  from  the  wall,  and  turned  towards  the 
door. 

"  You  are  going  away  ? "  exclaimed  his  wife,  in  ac 
cents  of  despair.  "  Oh,  that  is  cruel !  without  saying  a 
single  word  to  me — not  even  one  of  reproach !  This 
contempt  kills  me  ;  it  is  dreadful !  " 

Lavretsky  stopped. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  to  you  ?  "  he  said  in 
a  hollow  tone. 

"Nothing  —  nothing!"  she  cried  with  animation. 
"  I  know  that  I  have  no  right  to  demand  anything.  I 
am  no  fool,  believe  me.  I  don't  hope,  I  don't  dare 
to  hope,  for  pardon.  I  only  venture  to  entreat  you 
to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do,  where  I  ought  to  live. 
I  will  obey  your  orders  like  a  slave,  whatever  they 
may  be." 

"  I  have  no  orders  to  give,"  replied  Lavretsky  in  the 
same  tone  as  before.  "  You  know  that  all  is  over  be- 
tween us — and  more  than  ever  now.  You  can  live 
where  you  like  ;  and  if  your  allowance  is  too  small " 

"  Ah,  don't  say  such  terrible  things  !  "  she  said,  in- 
terrupting him.  Forgive  me,  if  only — if  only  for  the 
sake  of  this  angel.". 

And  having  uttered  these  words,  Varvara  Pavlovna 


238  Liza. 

suddenly  rushed  into  the  other  room,  and  immediately 
returned  with  a  very  tastefully-dressed  little  girl  in  hei 
arms.  Thick  flaxen  curls  fell  about  the  pretty  little 
rosy  face  and  over  the  great  black,  sleepy  eyes  of  the 
child,  who  smilingly  blinked  at  the  light,  and  held  on  to 
her  mother's  neck  by  a  chubby  little  arm. 

" Ada,  vois,  c'est  ton  pete"  said  Varvara  Pavlovna, 
removing  the  curls  from  the  child's  eyes,  and  kissing 
her  demonstratively.  "  Prie-le  avec  moi" 

"C'est  la,  papa  ?  "  the  little  girl  lispingly  began  to 
stammer. 

"Out,  man  enfant,  rfest-ce  pas  que  tu  Palmes  ?" 

But  the  interview  had  become  intolerable  to  Lavret- 
sky. 

"What  melodrama  is  it  just  such  a  scene  occurs 
in  ? "  he  muttered,  and  left  the  room. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  remained  standing  where  she  was 
for  some  time,  then  she  slightly  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
took  the  little  girl  back  into  the  other  room,  undressed 
her,  and  put  her  to  bed.  Then  she  took  a  book  and 
sat  down  near  the  lamp.  There  she  waited  about  an 
hour,  but  at  last  she  went  to  bed  herself. 

"Eh  If  ten,  madams  ? "  asked  her  maid, — a  Frenchwo- 
man whom  she  had  brought  with  her  from  Paris, — as 
she  unlaced  her  stays. 

"jE/t  bien,  Justine!"  replied  Varvara  Pavlovna. 
"  He  has  aged  a  great  deal,  but  I  think  he  is  just  as 
good  as  ever.  Give  me  my  gloves  for  the  night,  and 
get  the  gray  dress,  the  high  one,  ready  for  to-morrow 


Liza.  239 

morning — and  don't  forget  the  mutton  cutlets  for  Ada. 
To  be  sure  it  will  be  difficult  to  get  them  here,  but  we 
must  try." 

"  A  la  guerre  comme  a  la  guerre  !  "  replied  Justine  as 
she  put  out  the  light. 


XXXV. 

FOR  more  than  two  hours  Lavretsky  wandered  about 
the  streets.  The  night  he  had  spent  in  the  suburbs  of 
Paris  came  back  into  his  mind.  His  heart  seemed  rent 
within  him,  and  his  brain  felt  vacant  and  as  it  were 
numbed,  while  the  same  set  of  evil,  gloomy,  mad 
thoughts  went  ever  circling  in  his  mind.  "  She  is  alive  ; 
she  is  here,"  he  whispered  to  himself  with  constantly 
recurring  amazement.  He  felt  that  he  had  lost  Liza. 
Wrath  seemed  to  suffocate  him.  The  blow  had  too 
suddenly  descended  upon  him.  How  could  he  have 
so  readily  believed  the  foolish  gossip  of  a  feuilleton,  a 
mere  scrap  of  paper  ?  "  But  if  I  had  not  believed  it," 
he  thought,  "  what  would  have  been  the  difference  ?  I 
should  not  have  known  that  Liza  loves  me.  She  would 
not  have  known  it  herself."  He  could  not  drive  the 
thought  of  his  wife  out  of  his  mind ;  her  form,  her 
voice,  her  eyes  haunted  him.  He  cursed  himself,  he 
cursed  every  thing  in  the  world. 

Utterly  tired  out,  he  came  to  Lemm's  house  before 
the  dawn.  For  a  long  time  he  could  not  get  the  door 
opened;  at  last  the  old  man's  nightcapped  head  ap- 
peared at  the  window.  Peevish  and  wrinkled,  his  face 
bore  scarcely  any  resemblance  to  that  which,  austerely 


241 

inspired,  had  looked  royally  down  upon  Lavretsky 
twenty-fcur  hours  before,  from  all  the  height  of  its  ar- 
tistic grandeur. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Lemm.  "  I  cannot  play 
every  night.  I  have  taken  a  tisane.'1'' 

But  Lavretsky's  face  wore  a  strong  expression  which 
could  not  escape  notice.  The  old  man  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  looked  hard  at  his  nocturnal  visitor,  and 
let  him  in. 

Lavretsky  came  into  the  room  and  dropped  on  a 
chair.  The  old  man  remained  standing  before  him, 
wrapping  the  skirts  of  his  motley  old  dressing-gown 
around  him,  stooping  very  much,  and  biting  his  lips. 

"  My  wife  has  come,"  said  Lavretsky,  with  drooping 
head  ,  and  then  he  suddenly  burst  into  a  fit  of  involun- 
tary laughter. 

Lemm's  face  expressed  astonishment,  but  he  pre- 
served a  grave  silence,  only  wrapping  his  dressing-gown 
tighter  around  him. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  know,"  continued  Lavretsky. 
"I  supposed  —  I  saw  in  a  newspaper  that  she  was 
dead." 

"  O — h  !  Was  it  lately  you  saw  that  ? "  asked  Lemm. 

"Yes." 

"  O — h  !  "  repeated  the  old  man,  raising  his  eyebrows, 
"  and  she  has  come  here  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  is  now  in  my  house,  and  I — I  am  a 
most  unfortunate  man." 

And  he  laughed  again. 
ii 


242  Liza. 

"  You  are  a  most  unfortunate  man,"  slowly  repeated 
Lemm. 

"  Christopher  Fedorovich,"  presently  said  Lavret- 
sky,  "  will  you  undertake  to  deliver  a  note  ? " 

"  Hm  !     To  whom,  may  I  ask  ? " 

"  To  Lizav " 

"Ah!  yes,  yes,  I  understand.  Very  well.  But 
when  must  the  note  be  delivered  ? " 

"  To-morrow,  as  early  as  possible." 

"  Hm  !  I  might  send  my  cook,  Katrin.  No,  I  will 
go  myself/' 

"  And  will  you  bring  me  back  the  answer  ?  " 

"I  will." 

Lemm  sighed. 

"  Yes,  my  poor  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  you  cer- 
tainly are — a  most  unfortunate  young  man." 

Lavretsky  wrote  a  few  words  to  Liza,  telling  her 
of  his  wife's  arrival,  and  begging  her  to  make  an 
appointment  for  an  interview.  Then  he  flung  him- 
self on  the  narrow  sofa,  with  his  face  to  the  wall. 
The  old  man  also  lay  down  on  his  bed,  and  there 
long  tossed  about,  coughing  and  swallowing  mouthfuls 
of  his  tisane. 

The  morning  came  ;  they  both  arose — strange  were 
the  looks  they  exchanged.  Lavretsky  would  have 
liked  to  kill  himself  just  then.  Katrin  the  cook 
brought  them  some  bad  coffee,  and  then,  when  eight 
o'clock  struck,  Lemm  put  on  his  hat  and  went  out,  say- 
ing that  he  was  to  have  given  a  lesson  at  the  Kalitines' 


J/iza.  243 

at  ten  o'clock,  but  that  he  would  find  a  fitting  excuse 
for  going  there  sooner. 

Lavretsky  again  threw  himself  on  the  couch,  and 
again  a  bitter  laugh  broke  out  from  the  depths  of  his 
heart.  He  thought  of  how  his  wife  had  driven  him  out 
of  the  house ;  he  pictured  to  himself  Liza's  position, 
and  then  he  shut  his  eyes,  and  wrung  his  hands  above 
his  head. 

At  length  Lemm  returned  and  brought  him  a  scrap  of 
paper,  on  which  Liza  had  traced  the  following  words  in 
pencil :  "  We  cannot  see  each  other  to-day ;  perhaps  we 
may  to-morrow  evening.  Farewell."  Lavretsky  thanked 
Lemm  absently  and  stiffly,  and  then  went  home. 

He  found  his  wife  at  breakfast.  Ada,  with  her  hair 
all  in  curl-papers,  and  dressed  in  a  short  white  frock 
with  blue  ribbons,  was  eating  a  mutton  cutlet.  Varvara 
Pavlovna  rose  from  her  seat  the  moment  Lavretsky 
entered  the  room,  and  came  towards  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  humility  on  her  face.  He  asked  her  to  fol- 
low him  into  his  study,  and  when  there  he  shut  the  door 
and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  She  sat 
down,  folded  her  hands,  and  began  to  follow  his  move- 
ments with  eyes  which  were  still  naturally  beautiful, 
besides  having  their  lids  dyed  a  little. 

For  a  long  time  Lavretsky  could  not  begin  what  he 
had  to  say,  feeling  that  he  had  not  complete  mastery 
over  himself.  As  for  his  wife,  he  saw  that  she  was  not 
at  all  afraid  of  him,  although  she  looked  as  if  she  might 
at  any  moment  go  off  into  a  fainting  fit. 


244  Liza. 

"  Listen,  Madame,"  at  last  he  began,  breathing  with 
difficulty,  and  at  times  setting  his  teeth  hard.  "  There 
is  no  reason  why  we  should  be  hypocritical  towards  each 
other.  I  do  not  believe  in  your  repentance ;  but  even 
if  it  were  genuine,  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  re- 
join you  and  live  with  you  again." 

Varvara  Pavlovna  bit  her  lips  and  half  closed  her 
eyes.  "That's  dislike,"  she  thought.  "It's  all  over.. 
I'm  not  even  a  woman  for  him." 

"  Impossible,"  repeated  Lavretsky,  and  buttoned  his 
coat.  "  I  don't  know  why  you  have  been  pleased  to 
honor  me  by  coining  here.  Most  probably  you  are  out 
of  funds." 

"  Don't  say  that — you  wound  my  feelings,"  whis- 
pered Varvara  Pavlovna. 

"  However  that  may  be,  you  are  still,  to  my  sorrow, 
my  wife.  I  cannot  drive  you  away,  so  this  is  what  I 
propose.  You  can  go  to  Lavriki — to-day  if  you  like — 
and  live  there.  There  is  an  excellent  house  there,  as 
you  know.  You  shall  have  every  thing  you  can  want, 
besides  your  allowance.  Do  you  consent  ?  " 

Varvara  Pavlovna  raised  her  embroidered  handker- 
chief to  her  face. 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  she  said,  with  a  nervous 
twitching  of  her  lips,-  "  that  I  will  agree  to  any  arrange- 
ment you  may  please  to  make  for  me.  At  present  I 
have  only  to  ask  you — will  you  at  least  allow  me  to 
thank  you  for  your  generosity  ?  " 

"  No  thanks,  I  beg  of  you — we  shall  do  much  better 


Liza.  245 

without  them,"  hastily  exclaimed  Lavretsky.  "  Then,' 
he  added,  approaching  the  door,  I  may  depend  upon — ' 

"  To-morrow  I  will  be  at  Lavriki,"  replied  Varvara 
Pavlovna,  rising  respectfully  from  her  seat.  But  Fedor 

Ivanich "  ("  She  no  longer  familiarly  called  him 

Theodore). 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  say  ? " 

"  I  am  aware  that  I  have  not  yet  in  any  way  deserved 
forgiveness.  But  may  I  hope  that,  at  least,  in  time " 

"  Ah,  Varvara  Pavlovna,"  cried  Lavretsky,  inter- 
rupting her,  "you  are  a  clever  woman;  but  I,  too,  am 
not  a  fool.  I  know  well  that  you  have  no  need  of  for- 
giveness. Besides,  I  forgave  you  long  ago ;  but  there 
has  always  been  a  gulf  between  you  and  me." 

"I  shall  know  how  to  submit,"  answered  Varvara 
Pavlovna,  and  bowed  her  head.  "  I  have  not  forgotten 
my  fault.  I  should  not  have  wondered  if  I  had  learnt 
that  you  had  even  been  glad  to  hear  of  my  death,"  she 
added  in  a  soft  voice,  with  a  slight  wave  of  her  hand 
towards  the  newspaper,  which  was  lying  on  the  table 
where  Lavretsky  had  forgotten  it. 

Lavretsky  shuddered.  The  feuilleton  had  a  pencil 
mark  against  it.  Varvara  Pavlovna  gazed  at  him  with 
an  expression  of  even  greater  humility  than  before  on 
her  face.  She  looked  very  handsome  at  that  moment. 
Her  grey  dress,  made  by  a  Parisian  milliner,  fitted 
closely  to  her  pliant  figure,  which  seemed  almost  like 
that  of  a  girl  of  seventeen.  Her  soft  and  slender  neck, 
circled  by  a  white  collar,  her  bosom's  gentle  movement 


246  Liza. 

under  the  influence  of  her  steady  breathing,  her  arms 
and  hands,  on  which  she  wore  neither  bracelets  nor 
rings,  her  whole  figure,  from  her  lustrous  hair  to  the  tip 
of  the  scarcely  visible  bottine,  all  was  so  artistic ! 

Lavretsky  eyed  her  with  a  look  of  hate,  feeling 
hardly  able  to  abstain  from  crying  brava,  hardly  able  to 
abstain  from  striking  her  down — and  went  away. 

An  hour  later  he  was  already  on  the  road  to  Vasili- 
evskoe,  and  two  hours  later  Varvara  Pavlovna  ordered 
the  best  carriage  on  hire  in  the  town  to  be  got  for  her, 
put  on  a  simple  straw  hat  with  a  black  veil,  and  a  mod- 
est mantilla,  left  Justine  in  charge  of  Ada,  and  went  to 
the  Kalitines'.  From  the  inquiries  Justine  had  made, 
Madame  Lavretsky  had  learnt  that  her  husband  was  in 
the  habit  of  going  there  every  day. 


XXXVI. 

THE  day  on  which  Lavretsky's  wife  arrived  in  O. — 
a  sad  day  for  him — was  also  a  day  of  trial  for  Liza. 
Before  she  had  had  time  to  go  down -stairs  and  say 
good  morning  to  her  mother,  the  sound  of  a  horse's 
hoofs  was  heard  underneath  the  window,  and,  with  a  se- 
cret feeling  of  alarm,  she  saw  Panshine  ride  into  the 
court-yard.  "  It  is  to  get  a  definite  answer  that  he  has 
come  so  early,"  she  thought ;  and  she  was  not  deceived. 
After  taking  a  turn  through  the  drawing-room,  he  pro- 
posed to  go  into  the  garden  with  her ;  and  when  there 
he  asked  her  how  his  fate  was  to  be  decided. 

Liza  summoned  up  her  courage,  and  told  him  that 
she  could  not  be  his  wife.  He  listened  to  all  she  had 
to  say,  turning  himself  a  little  aside,  with  his  hat" 
pressed  down  over  his  eyes.  Then,  with  perfect  polite- 
ness, but  in  an  altered  tone,  he  asked  her  if  that  was 
her  final  decision,  and  whether  he  had  not,  in  somt 
way  or  other,  been  the  cause  of  such  a  change  in  her 
ideas.  Then  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand  for  a 
moment,  breathed  one  quick  sigh,  and  took  his  hand 
away  from  his  face. 

"  I  wanted  to  follow  the  beaten  track,"  he  said  sad- 
ly ;  "I  wanted  to  choose  a  companion  for  myself  ac- 


248  Liza. 

cording  to  the  dictates  of  my  heart.  But  I  see  that  it  is 
not  to  be.  So  farewell  to  my  fancy  !  " 

He  made  Liza  a  low  bow,  and  went  back  into  the 
house. 

She  hoped  he  would  go  away  directly ;  but  he  went 
to  her  mother's  boudoir,  and  remained  an  hour  with 
her.  As  he  was  leaving  the  house  he  said  to  Liza, 
"  Votre  mere  vous  appclle  :  Adieu  a  jamais  !  "  then  he  got 
on  his  horse,  and  immediately  set  off  at  full  gallop. 

On  going  to  her  mother's  room,  Liza  found  her  in 
tears.  Panshine  had  told  her  about  his  failure. 

"  Why  should  you  kill  me  ?  Why  should  you  kill  me  ?  " 
Thus  did  the  mortified  widow  begin  her  complaint. 
"  What  better  man  do  you  want  ?  Why  is  he  not  fit  to 
be  your  husband  ?  A  chamberlain  !  and  so  disinter- 
ested !  Why,  at  Petersburg  he  might  marry  any  of  the 
maids  of  honor  !  And  I — I  had  so  longed  for  it.  And 
how  long  is  it  since  you  changed  your  mind  about 
him  ?  Wherever  has  this  cloud  blown  from  ? — for  it 
has  never  come  of  its  own  accord.  Surely  it  isn't  that 
wiseacre?  A  pretty  adviser  you  have  found,  if  "that's 
the  case  !  " 

"  And  as  for  him,  my  poor,  dear  friend,"  continued 
Maria  Dmitrievna,  "  how  respectful  he  was,  how  atten- 
tive, even  in  the  midst  of  his  sorrow  !  He  has  promised 
not  to  desert  me.  Oh,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  bear 
this !  Oh,  my  head  is  beginning  to  ache  dreadfully  ! 
Send  Palashka  here.  You  will  kill  me,  if  you  don't 
think  better  of  it.  Do  vou  hear  ?  "  And  then,  after 


249 

having  told  Liza,  two  or  three  times  that  she  was  un- 
grateful, Maria  Dmitrievna  let  her  go  away. 

Liza  went  to  her  room.  But  before  she  had  had  a 
moment's  breathing-time  after  her  scene  with  Panshine 
and  with  her  mother,  another  storm  burst  upon  her, 
and  that  from  the  quarter  from  which  she  least  ex 
pected  it. 

Marfa  Timofeevna  suddenly  came  into  her  room,  and 
immediately  shut  the  door  after  her.  The  old  lady's 
face  was  pale ;  her  cap  was  all  awry ;  her  eyes  were 
flashing,  her  lips  quivering.  Liza  was  lost  in  astonish- 
ment. She  had  never  seen  her  shrewd  and  steady 
aunt  in  such  a  state  before. 

"  Very  good,  young  lady !  "  Marfa  Timofeevna  began 
to  whisper,  with  a  broken  and  trembling  voice.  "  Very 

good !     Only  who  taught  that,  my  mother Give  me 

some  water  ;  I  can't  speak."  - 

"  Do  be  calm,  aunt.  What  is  the  matter  ? "  said 
Liza,  giving  her  a  glass  of  water.  "Why,  I  thought 
you  didn't  like  M.  Panshine  yourself." 

Marfa  Timofeevna  pushed  the  glass  away.  "  I  can't 
drink  it.  I  should  knock  out  my  last  teeth,  if  I  tried. 
What  has  Panshine  to  do  with  it  ?  Whatever  have  we 
to  do  with  Panshine  ?  Much  better  tell  me  who  taught 
you  to  make  appointments  with  people  at  night.  Eh, 
my  mother  !  " 

Liza  turned  very  pale. 

"  Don't  try  to  deny  it,  please,"  continued  Marfa 
Timofeevna.  "  Shurochka  saw  it  all  herself,  and  told 


250  Liza. 

me.     I've  had  to  forbid  her  chattering,  but  she  nevei 
tells  lies." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  deny  it,  aunt,"  said  Liza,  in  a 
scarcely  audible  voice. 

"  Ah,  ah !  Then  it  is  so,  my  mother.  You  made  an 
appointment  with  him,  that  old  sinner,  that  remarkably 
sweet  creature  !  " 

"  No." 

"  How  was  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  came  down  to  the  drawing-room  to  look  for  a 
book.  He  was  in  the  garden  ;  and  he  called  me." 

"And  you  went?  Very  good,  indeed!  Perhaps  you 
love  him,  then  ?  " 

"  I  do  love  him,"  said  Liza  quietly. 

"  Oh,  my  mothers  !  She  does  love  him  !  "  Here 
Marfa  Timofeevna  took  off  her  cap.  "  She  loves  a 
married  man  !  Eh  ?  Loves  him  !  " 

"  He  had  told  me "  began  Liza. 

"What  he  had  told  you,  this  little  hawk?  Eh, 
what  ?  " 

"  He  had  told  me  that  his  wife  was  dead." 

Marfa  Timofeevna  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 
"  The  kingdom  of  heaven  be  to  her,"  she  whispered. 
"  She  was  a  frivolous  woman.  But  don't  let's  think 
about  that.  So  that's  how  it  is.  I  see,  he's  a  widower. 
Oh  yes,  he's  going  ahead.  He  has  killed  one  wife,  and 
now  he's  after  a  second.  A  nice  sort  of  person  he  is, 
to  be  sure.  But,  niece,  let  me  tell  you  this,  in  my  young 
days  things  of  this  kind  used  to  turn  out  very  badly  for 


Liza.  251 

girls.  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  my  mother.  It's  only 
fools  who  are  angry  with  the  truth.  I've  even  told 
them  not  to  let  him  in  to  see  me  to-day.  I  love  him, 
but  I  shall  never  forgive  him  for  this.  So  he  is  a  wid 
ower !  Give  me  some  water.  But  as  to  your  putting 
Panshine's  nose  out  of  joint,  why  I  think  you're  a  good 
girl  for  that.  But  don't  go  sitting  out  at  night  with  men 
creatures.  Don't  make  me  wretched  in  my  old  age, 
and  remember  that  I'm  not  altogether  given  over  to 

fondling.     I  can  bite,  too A  widower !  " 

Marfa  Timofeevna  went  away,  and  Liza  sat  down  in 
a  corner,  and  cried  a  long  time.  Her  heart  was  heavy 
within  her.  She  had  not  deserved  to  be  so  humiliated. 
It  was  not  in  a  joyous  manner  that  love  had  made  itself 
known  to  her.  It  was  for  the  second  time  since  yester- 
day morning  that  she  was  crying  now.  This  new  and 
unlooked-for  feeling  had  only  just  sprung  into  life  with- 
in her  heart,  and  already  how  dearly  had  she  had  to 
pay  for  it,  how  roughly  had  other  hands  dealt  with  her 
treasured  secret !  She  felt  ashamed,  and  hurt,  and  un- 
happy ;  but  neither  doubt  nor  fear  troubled  her,  and 
Lavretsky  became  only  still  dearer  to  her.  She  had  hes- 
itated so  long  as  she  was  not  sure  of  her  own  feelings  ; 
but  after  that  interview,  after  that  kiss — she  could  no 
longer  hesitate.  She  knew  now  that  she  loved,. and  that 
she  loved  earnestly,  honestly ;  she  knew  that  her's  was 
a  firm  attachment,  one  which  would  last  for  her  whole 
life.  As  for  threats,  she  did  not  fear  them.  She  felt 
that  this  tie  was  one  which  no  violence  could  break. 


XXXVII. 

MARIA  DMITRIEVNA  was  greatly  embarrassed  when 
she  was  informed  that  Madame  Lavretsky  was  at  the 
door.  She  did  not  even  know  whether  she  ought  to  re- 
ceive her,  being  afraid  of  offending  Lavretsky ;  but  at 
last  curiosity  prevailed.  "  After  all,"  she  thought,  "  she 
is  a  relation,  too."  So  she  seated  herself  in  an  easy 
chair,  and  said  to  the  footman,  "  Show  her  in." 

A  few  minutes  went  by,  then  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  Varvara  Pavlovna,  with  a  swift  and  almost 
noiseless  step,  came  up  to  Maria  Dmitrievna,  and, 
without  giving  her  time  to  rise  from  her  chair,  almost 
went  down  upon  her  knees  before  her. 

"  Thank  you,  aunt,"  she  began  in  Russian,  speaking 
softly,  but  in  a  tone  of  deep  emotion.  "  Thank  you  ;  I 
had  not  even  dared  to  hope  that  you  would  condescend 
so  far.  You  are  an  angel  of  goodness." 

Having  said  this,  Varvara  Pavlovna  unexpectedly 
laid  hold  of  one  of  Maria  Dmitrievna's  hands,  gently 
pressed  it  between  her  pale-lilac  Jouvin's  gloves,  and 
then  lifted  it  respectfully  to  her  pouting,  rosy  lips. 
Maria  Dmitrievna  was  entirely  carried  away  by  the  sight 
of  such  a  handsome  and  exquisitely  dressed  woman 


Liza. 


253 


almost  at  her  feet,  and  did  not  know  what  position  to 
assume.  She  felt  half  inclined  to  draw  back  her  hand, 
half  inclined  to  make  her  visitor  sit  down,  and  to  say 
something  affectionate  to  her.  She  ended  by  rising 
from  her  chair  and  kissing  Varvara's  smooth  and  per- 
fumed forehead. 

Varvara  appeared  to  be  totally  overcome  by  that 
kiss. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  bonjour"  said  Maria  Dmitrievna. 

"  I  never  imagined however,  I'm  really  delighted  to 

see  you.  You  will  understand,  my  dear,  it  is  not  my 
business  to  be  judge  between  a  man  and  his  wife." 

"  My  husband  is  entirely  in  the  right,"  said  Varvara 
Pavlovna,  interrupting  her,  "I  alone  am  to  blame." 

"  Those  are  very  praiseworthy  sentiments,  very," 
said  Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  Is  it  long  since  you  arrived  ? 
Have  you  seen  him  ?  But  do  sit  down." 

"  I  arrived  yesterday,"  answered  Varvara  Pavlovna, 
seating  herself  on  a  chair  in  an  attitude  expressive  of 
humility.  "  I  have  seen  my  husband,  and  I  have  spoken 
with  him." 

"  Ah  !     Well,  and  what  did  he  say  ? "    , 

"I  was  afraid  that  my  coming  so  suddenly  might 
•make  him  angry,"  continued  Varvara  Pavlovna ;  "  but  he 
did  not  refuse  to  see  me." 

"  That  is  to  say,  he  has  not Yes,  yes,  I  under- 
stand," said  Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  It  is  only  outwardly 
that  he  seems  a  little  rough ;  his  heart  is  really  soft." 

"  Fedor  Ivanovich  has  not  pardoned  me.     He  did 


254  Liza. 

not  want  to  listen  to  me.  But  he  has  been  good  enough 
to  let  me  have  Lavriki  to  live  in." 

"  Ah,  a  lovely  place  !  " 

"I  shall  set  off  there  to-morrow,  according  to  his 
desire.  But  I  considered  it  a  duty  to  pay  you  a  visit 
first." 

"  I  am  very,  very  much  obliged  to  you  my  dear.  One 
ought  never  to  forget  one's  relations.  But  do  you  know 
I  am  astonished  at  your  speaking  Russian  so  well. 
C?est  tioxnant" 

Varvara  Pavlovna  smiled. 

"  I  have  been  too  long  abroad,  Maria  Dmitrievna,  I 
avn  well  aware  of  that.  But  my  heart  has  always  been 
Russian,  and  I  have  not  forgotten  my  native  land." 

"  Yes,  yes.  There's  nothing  like  that.  Your  hus- 
band certainly  didn't  expect  you  in  the  least.  Yes, 
trust  my  experience — la  patrie  avant  tout.  Oh  !  please 
let  me  !  What  a  charming  mantilla  you  have  on  !  " 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?  "  Varvara  took  it  quickly  off  her 
shoulders.  "It  is  very  simple;  one  of  Madame  Bau- 
dran's." 

"  One  can  see  that  at  a  glance.  How  lovely,  and  in 
what  exquisite  taste !  I  feel  sure  you've  brought  a 
number  of  charming  things  with  you.  How  I  should 
like  to  see  them !  " 

"All  my  toilette  is  at  your  service,  dearest  aunt. 
I  might  show  your  maid  something  if  you  liked.  I 
have  brought  a  maid  from  Paris,  a  wonderful  needle- 
woman." 


Liza.  255 

"  You  are  exceedingly  good,  my  dear.  But,  really, 
I  haven't  the  conscience " 

"  Haven't  the  conscience  !  "  repeated  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna,  in  a  reproachful  tone.  "  If  you  wish  to  make 
me  happy,  you  will  dispose  of  me  as  if  I  belonged  to 
you." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  fairly  gave  way. 

"  Vous  etcs  charmante?  she  said.  But  why  don't  you 
take  off  your  bonnet  and  gloves  ? " 

"  What !  You  allow  me  ?  "  asked  Varvara  Pavlovna, 
gently  clasping  her  hands  with  an  air  of  deep  emotion. 

"  Of  course.  You  will  dine  with  us,  I  hope.  I — I 
will  introduce  my  daughter  to  you."  (Maria  Dmitrievna 
felt  embarrassed  for  a  moment,  but  then,  "  Well,  so  be 
it,"  she  thought.)  "  She  happens  not  to  be  quite  well 
to-day.' 

"  Oh !  ma  tanfe,  how  kind  you  are ! "  exclaimed 
Varvara  Pavlovna,  lifting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

At  this  moment  the  page  announced  Gedeonovsky's 
arrival,  and  the  old  gossip  came  in  smiling,  and  bowing 
profoundly.  Maria  Dmitrievna  introduced  him  to  her 
visitor.  At  first  he  was  somewhat  abashed,  but  Var- 
vara Pavlovna  behaved  to  him  with  such  coquettish 
respectfulness  that  his  ears  soon  began  to  tingle,  and 
amiable  speeches  and  gossiping  stories  began  to  flow 
uninterruptedly  from  his  lips. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  listened  to  him,  slightly  smiling  at 
times,  then  by  degrees  she  too  began  to  talk.  She 
spoke  in  a  modest  way  about  Paris,  about  her  (ravels, 


256  Liza. 

about  Baden ;  she  made  Maria  Dmitrievna  laugh  two 
or  three  times,  and  each  time  she  uttered  a  gentle  sigh 
afterwards,  as  if  she  were  secretly  reproaching  herself 
for  her  unbecoming  levity;  she  asked  leave  to  bring 
Ada  to  the  house ;  she  took  off  her  gloves,  and  with  her 
smooth  white  hands  she  pointed  out  how  and  where 
flounces,  ruches,  lace,  and  so  forth,  were  worn  ;  she 
promised  to  bring  a  bottle  of  new  English  scent — the 
Victoria  essence — and  was  as  pleased  as  a  child  when 
Maria  Dmitrievna  consented  to  accept  it  as  a  present ; 
and  she  melted  into  tears  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
emotion  she  had  experienced  when  she  heard  the  first 
Russian  bells. 

"  So  profoundly  did  they  sink  into  my  very  heart," 
she  said. 

At  that  moment  Liza  came  into  the  room. 

All  that  day,  ever  since  the  moment  when,  cold  with 
dismay,  Liza  had  read  Lavretsky's  note,  she  had  been 
preparing  herself  for  an  interview  with  his  wife.  She 
foresaw  that  she  would  see  her,  and  she  determined 
not  to  avoid  her,  by  way  of  inflicting  upon  herself  a 
.punishment  for  what  she  considered  her  culpable  hopes. 
The  unexpected  crisis  which  had  taken  place  in  her 
fate  had  profoundly  shaken  her.  In  the  course  of  about 
a  couple  of  hours  her  face  seemed  to  have  grown  thin. 
But  she  had  not  shed  a  single  tear.  "  It  is  what  you 
deserve,"  she  said  to  herself,  repressing,  though  not 
without  difficulty,  and  at  the  cost  of  considerable  agita- 
tion, certain  bitter  thoughts  and  evil  impulses  which 


Liza. 


257 


frightened  her  as  they  arose  in  her  mind.  "Well,  I 
must  go,"  she  thought,  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  Madame 
Lavretsky's  arrival,  and  she  went. 

She  stood  outside  the  drawing-room  door  for  a  long 
time  before  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to  open  it.  At 
last,  saying  to  herself,  "I  am  guilty  before  her,"  she  en- 
i.ered  the  room,  and  forced  herself  to  look  at  her,  even 
forced  herself  to  smile.  Varvara  Pavlovna  came  for- 
ward to  meet  her  as  soon  as  she  saw  her  come  in,  and 
made  her  a  slight,  but  still  a  respectful  salutation. 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  myself,"  she  began,  in  an 
insinuating  tone.  "  Your  mamma  has  been  so  indul- 
gent towards  me  that  I  hope  that  you  too  will  be — good 
to  me." 

The  expression  of  Varvara  Pavlovna's  face  as  she  ut- 
tered these  last  words,  her  cunning  smile,  her  cold  and,  at 
the  same  time,  loving  look,  the  movements  of  her  arms 
and  shoulders,  her  very  dress,  her  whole  being,  aroused 
such  a  feeling  of  repugnance  in  Liza's  mind  that  she 
absolutely  could  not  answer  her,  and  only  by  a  strong 
effort  could  succeed  in.  holding  out  her  hand  to  her. 
"  This  young  lady  dislikes  me,"  thought  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna, as  she  squeezed  Liza's  cold  fingers,  then,  turning 
to  Maria  Dmitrievna,  she  said  in  a  half  whisper.  "  Mais 
elle  est^elideuse  I " 

Liza  faintly  reddened.  In  that  exclamation  she 
seemed  to  detect  a  tone  of  irony  and  insult.  However, 
she  detei mined  not  to  trust  to  that  impression,  and  she 
took  her  seat  at  her  embroidery  frame  near  the  window. 


258  Liza. 

Even  there  Varvara  Pavlovna  would  not  leave  her  in 
peace.  She  came  to  her,  and  began  to  praise  her  clev- 
erness and  taste.  Liza's  heart  began  to  beat  with  pain- 
ful force.  Scarcely  could  she  master  her  feelings, 
scarcely  could  she  remain  sitting  quietly  in  her  place. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  Varvara  Pavlovna  knew  all  and 
were  mocking  her  with  secret  triumph.  Fortunately  for 
her,  Gedeonovsky  began  to  talk  to  Varvara  and  diverted 
her  attention.  Liza  bent  over  her  frame  and  watched 
her  without  being  observed.  "  That  woman,"  she 
thought,  "  was  once  loved  by  /«>//."  But  then  she  im- 
mediately drove  out  of  her  mind  even  so  much  as  the 
idea  of  Lavretsky.  She  felt  her  head  gradually  begin- 
ning to  swim,  and  she  was  afraid  of  losing  command 
over  herself.  Maria  Dmitrievna  began  to  talk  about 
music. 

"  I  have  heard,  my  dear,"  she  began,  "  that  you  are 
a  wonderful  'virtuoso," 

"  I  haven't  played  for  a  long  time,"  replied  Varvara 
Pavlovna,  but  she  immediately  took  her  seat  at  the  piano 
and  ran  her  fingers  rapidly  along  the  keys.  "  Do  you 
wish  me  to  play  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  do  us  that  favor." 

Varvara  Pavlovna  played  in  a  masterly  style  a  bril- 
liant and  difficult  study  by  Herz.  Her  performance 
was  marked  by  great  power  and  rapidity. 

"  A  sylphidel"  exclaimed  Gedeonovsky. 

"  It  is  wonderful !  "  declared  Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  1 
must  confess  you  have  fairly  astonished  me,  Varvara 


259 

Pavlovna,''  calling  that  lady  by  her  name  for  the  first 
time.  "  Why  you  might  give  concerts.  We  have  a 
musician  here,  an  old  German,  very  learned  and  quite 
an  original.  He  gives  Liza  lessons.  You  would  simply 
make  him  go  out  of  his  mind." 

"  Is  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna  also  a  musician  ? ;'  asked 
Madame  Lavretsky,  turning  her  head  a  little  towards 
her. 

"  Yes ;  she  doesn't  play  badly,  and  she  is  very  fond 
of  music.  But  what  does  that  signify  in  comparison 
with  you  ?  But  we  have  a  young  man  here  besides. 
You  really  must  make  his  acquaintance.  He  is  a  thor- 
ough artist  in  feeling,  and  he  composes  charmingly. 
He  is  the  only  person  here  who  can  fully  appreciate 
you." 

"  A  young  man  ?  "  said  Varvara  Pavlovna.  "  What 
is  he  ?  Some  poor  fellow  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  He  is  the  leading  cavalier 
here,  and  not  here  only — et  a  Petersbotirg — a  chamber- 
lain, received  in  the  best  society.  You  surely  must 
have  heard  of  him — Vladimir  Nikolaevich  Panshine. 
He  is  here  on  government  business — a  future  minis- 
ter !  •' 

"  And  an  artist  too  ? '' 

"An  artist  in  feeling,  and  so  amiable.  You  shall 
see  him.  He  has  been  here  a  great  deal  for  some  time 
past.  I  asked  him  to  come  this  evening.  I  hope  he 
will  come,':  added  Maria  Dmitrievna  with  a  slight  sigh 
and  a  bittei  smile. 


260  Liza. 

Liza  understood  the  hidden  meaning  of  that  smile, 
but  she  had  other  things  to  think  about  then. 

"  And  he's  young  ?  "  repeated  Varvara  Pavlovna, 
lightly  modulating  from  key  to  key. 

"  Tw.enty-eight  years  old — and  a  most  pleasing  exte- 
rior. Un  jeune  homme  accompli.'1'' 

"  A  model  young  man,  one  may  say,"  remarked  Ge- 
deonovsky. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  suddenly  began  to  play  a  noisy 
waltz  by  Strauss,  beginning  with  so  loud  and  quick  a  trill 
that  Gedeonovsky  fairly  started.  Right  in  the  middle  of 
the  waltz  she  passed  abruptly  into  a  plaintive  air,  and 
ended  with  the  Fra  poco  out  of  Lucia.  She  had  sud- 
denly remembered  that  joyful  music  was  not  in  keep- 
ing with  her  position. 

Maria  Dmitrievna  was  deeply  touched  by  the  air 
from  Luria,  in  which  great  stress  was  laid  upon  the  sen- 
timental passages. 

"  What  feeling  !  "  she  whispered  to  Gedeonovsky. 

"A  Sylphidt!"  repeated  Gedeonovsky,  lifting  his 
eyes  to  heaven. 

The  dinner  hour  arrived.  Marfa  Timofeevna  did 
not  come  down  from  up-stairs  until  the  soup  was  already 
placed  ou  the  table.  She  behaved  very  coldly  to  Var- 
vara Pavlovna,  answering  her  amiable  speeches  with 
broken  phrases,  and  never  even  looking  at  her.  Var- 
vara soon  perceived  that  there  was  no  conversation  to 
be  got  out  of  that  old  lady,  so  she  gave  up  talking  to 
her.  On  the  other  hand  Madame  Kalitine  became  sliil 


Liza.  261 

more  caressing  in  her  behavior  towards  her  guest.  She 
was  vexed  by  her  aunt's  rudeness. 

After  all,  it  was  not  only  Varvara  that  the  old  lady 
would  not  look  at.  She  did  not  once  look  at  Liza 
either,  although  her  eyes  almost  glowed  with  a  meaning 
light.  Pale,  almost  yellow,  there  she  sat,  with  com- 
pressed lips,  looking  as  if  she  were  made  of  stone,  and 
would  eat  nothing. 

As  for  Liza,  she  seemed  calm,  and  was  so  in  reality. 
Her  heart  was  quieter  than  it  had  been.  A  strange 
callousness,  the  callousness  of  the  condemned,  had 
come  over  her. 

During  dinner  Varvara  Pavlovna  said  little.  She 
seemed  to  have  become  timid  again,  and  her  face  wore 
an  expression  of  modest  melancholy.  Gedeonovsky 
was  the  only  person  who  kept  the  conversation  alive, 
relating  several  t>f  his  stories,  though  from  time  to  time 
he  looked  timidly  at  Marfa  Timofeevna  and  coughed. 
That  cough  always  seized  him  whenever  he  was  going 
to  embellish  the  truth  in  her  presence.  But  this  time 
she  did  not  meddle  with  him,  never  once  interrupted 
him. 

After  dinner  it  turned  out  that  Varvara  Pavlovna 
was  very  fond  of  the  game  of  preference.  Madame 
Kalitine  was  so  pleased  at  this  that  she  felt  quite  touched 
and  inwardly  thought,  "Why,  what  a  fool  Fedor  Ivano- 
vich  must  be  !  Fancy  not  having  been  able  to  compre- 
hend such  a  woman  !  " 

She  sat  down  to  cards  with  Varvara  and  Gedeonov 


262  Liza. 

sky  ;  but  Marfa  Timofeevna  carried  off  Liza  lo  her  room 
up-stairs,  saying  that  the  girl  "  had  no  face  left,"  and 
she  was  sure  her  head  must  be  aching. 

"  Yes,  her  head  aches  terribly,"  said  Madame  Kali- 
tine,  addressing  Varvara  Pavlovna,  and  rolling  her  eyes. 
"I  often  have  such  headaches  myself." 

"  Really  !  "  answered  Varvara  Pavlovna. 

Liza  entered  her  aunt's  room,  and  sank  on  a  chair 
perfectly  worn  out.  For  a  long  time  Marfa  Timofeevna 
looked  at  her  in  silence,  then  she  quietly  knelt  down 
before  her,  and  began,  still  quite  silently,  to  kiss  her 
hands — first  one,  and  then  the  other. 

Liza  bent  forwards  and  reddened — then  she  began 
to  cry ;  but  she  did  not  make  her  aunt  rise,  nor  did  she 
withdraw  her  hands  from  her.  She  felt  that  she  had  no 
right  to  withdraw  them — had  no  right  to  prevent  the  old 
lady  from  expressing  her  sorrow,  her  sympathy — from 
asking  to  be  pardoned  for  what  had  taken  place  the  day 
before.  And  Marfa  Timofeevna  could  not  sufficiently 
kiss  those  poor,  pale,  nerveless  hands;  while  silent 
tears  poured  down  from  her  eyes  and  from  Liza's  too. 
And  the  cat,  Matros,  purred  in  the  large  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  stocking  and  the  ball  of  worsted;  the  long, 
thin  flame  of  the  little  lamp  feebly  wavered  in  front  of 
the  holy  picture  ;  and  in  the  next  room,  just  the  other 
side  of  the  door,  stood  Nastasia  Carpovna,  and  furtively 
wiped  her  eyes  with  a  check  pocket-handkerchief,  rolled 
up  into  a  sort  of  ball. 


XXXVIII. 

DOWN-STAIRS,  meanwhile,  the  game  of  preference 
went  on.  Maria  Dmitrievna  was  winning,  and  was  in 
a  very  good  humor.  A  servant  entered  and  announced 
Panshine's  arrival.  Maria  Dmitrievna  let  fall  her  cards, 
and  fidgeted  in  her  chair.  Varvara  Pavlovna  looked  at 
her  with  a  half-smile,  and  then  turned  her  eyes  towards 
the  door. 

Panshine  appeared  in  a  black  dress-coat,  buttoned 
all  the  way  up,  and  wearing  a  high  English  shirt-collar. 
"  It  was  painful  for  me  to  obey ;  but,  you  see,  I  have 
come;"  that  was  what  was  expressed  by  his  serious 
face,  evidently  just  shaved  for  the  occasion. 

11  Why,  Valdemar  !  "  exclaimed  Maria  Dmitrievna, 
"  you  used  always  to  come  in  without  being  announced.1' 

Panshine  made  no  other  reply  than  a  look,  and 
bowed  politely  to  Maria  Dmitrievna,  but  did  not  kiss 
her  hand.  She  introduced  him  to  Varvara  Pavlovna. 
He  drew  back  a  pace,  bowed  to  her  with  the  same 
politeness  and  with  an  added  expression  of  respectful 
grace,  and  then  took  a  seat  at  the  card-table.  The 
game  soon  came  to  an  end.  Panshine  asked  after  Liz- 
avetcx  Mikhailovna,  and  expressed  his  regret  at  hearing 


264  Liza. 

that  she  was  not  quite  well.  Then  he  began  to  con- 
verse with  Varvara  Pavlovaa,  weighing  every  word  care- 
fully and  emphasizing  it  distinctly  in  true  diplomatic 
style,  and,  when  she  spoke,  respectfully  hearing  her  an- 
swers to  the  end.  But  the  seriousness  of  his  diplomatic 
tone  produced  no  effect  upon  Varvara  Pavlovna,  who 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  On  the  contrary,  she 
looked  him  full  in  the  face  with  a  sort  of  smiling  earn- 
estness, and  in  talking  with  him  seemed  thoroughly  at 
her  ease,  while  her  delicate  nostrils  lightly  quivered, 
as  though  with  suppressed  laughter. 

Maria  Dmitrievna  began  to  extol  Varvara's  clever- 
ness. Panshine  bent  his  head  politely,  as  far  as  his 
shirt-collar  permitted  him,  declared  that  he  had  already 
been  convinced  of  the  exceptional  nature  of  her  talents, 
and  all  but  brought  round  the  conversation  to  the  sub- 
ject of  Metternich  himself.  Varvara  Pavlovna  half- 
closed  her  velvety  eyes,  and,  having  said  in  a  low  voice, 
\"  But  you  are  an  artist  also,  un  confrere"  added  still 
lower,  "  Venez  /"  and  made  a  sign  with  her  head  in 
the  direction  of  the  piano.  This  single  word,  "  Venez  !  " 
so  abruptly  spoken,  utterly  changed  Panshine's  appear- 
ance, as  if  by  magic,  in  a  single  moment.  His  care- 
worn air  disappeared,  he  began  to  smile,  he  became  an- 
imated, he  unbuttoned  his  coat,  and,  saying  "I  am  an 
artist !  Not  at  all ;  but  you,  I  hear,  are  an  artist  in- 
deed," he  followed  Varvara  Pavlovna  to  the  piano. 

"  Tell  him  to  sing  the  romance,  '  How  the  moon 
floats,'  "  exclaimed  Maria  Dmitrievna. 


Liza.  265 

"  You  sing  ?  "  asked  Varvara  Pavlovna,  looking  at 
him  with  a  bright  and  rapid  glance.  "  Sit  down  there." 

Panshine  began  to  excuse  himself. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  repeated,  tapping  the  back  of  the 
chair  in  a  determined  manner. 

He  sat  down,  coughed,  pulled  up  his  shirt-collar, 
and  sang  his  romance. 

"  Charmant"  said  Varvara  Pavlovna.  "  You  sing 
admirably — vous  avez  du  style.  Sing  it  again." 

She  went  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  piano,  and 
placed  herself  exactly  opposite  Panshine.  He  repeated 
his  romance,  giving  a  melodramatic  variation  to  his 
voice.  Varvara  looked  at  him  steadily,  resting  her 
elbows  on  the  piano,  with  her  white  hands  on  a  level 
with  her  lips.  The  song  ended,  "  Charmant !  Char- 
mante  idee"  she  said,  with  the  quiet  confidence  of  a 
connoisseur.  "  Tell  me,  have  you  written  anything  for 
a  woman's  voice — a  mezzo-soprano  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  write  anything,"  answered  Panshine. 
"  I  do  so  only  now  and  then — between  business  hours 
But  do  you  sing  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes !  do  sing  us  something,"  said  Maria  Dmi 
trievna. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  tossed  her  head,  and  pushed  hei 
hair  back  from  her  flushed  cheeks.  Then,  addressing 
Panshine,  she  said — 

"  Our  voices  ought  to  go  well  together.  Let  us  sing 
a  duet.  Do  you  know  '  Son  geloso]  or  'La  ci  darem,'  01 
'  Mtra  la  bianca  luna  ? '  " 


266  Liza. 

"  I  used  to  sing  '  Mini  la  bianca  liinaj  "  answered 
Panshine  ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  ago.  I  have  forgot- 
ten it  now." 

"  Never  mind,  we  will  hum  it  over  first  by  way  of 
experiment.  Let  me  come  there." 

Varvara  Pavlovna  sat  down  to  the  piano.  Pan- 
shine  stood  by  her  side.  They  hummed  over  the  duet, 
Varvara  Pavlovna  correcting  him  several  times ;  then 
they  sang  it  out  loud,  and  afterwards  repeated  it  twice 
— "Mira  la  bianca  lu-u-una?  Varvara's  voice  had  lost 
its  freshness,  but  she  managed  it  with  great  skill.  At 
first  Panshine  was  nervous,  and  sang  rather  false,  but 
afterwards  he  experienced  an  artistic  glow  ;  and,  if  he 
did  not  sing  faultlessly,  at  all  events  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  swayed  his  body  to  and  fro,  and  from  time 
to  time  lifted  his  hand  aloft,  like  a  genuine  vocalist. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  afterwards  played  two  or  three  lit- 
tle pieces  by  Thalberg,  and  coquettishly  chanted  a 
French  song.  Maria  Dmitrievna  did  not  know  how  to 
express  her  delight,  and  several  times  she  felt  inclined 
to  send  for  Liza.  Gedeonovsky,  too,  could  not  find 
words  worthy  of  the  occasion,  and  could  only  shake  his 
head.  Suddenly,  however,  and  quite  unexpectedly,  he 
yawned,  and  only  just  contrived  to  hide  his  mouth  with 
his  hand.  • 

That  yawn  did  not  escape  Varvara's  notice.  She 
suddenly  turned  her  back  upon  the  piano,  saying, 
"  Assez  de  musique  comme  ca  ;  let  us  talk  a  little,"  and 
crossed  her  hands  before  her. 


Liza.  26) 

"  Oui,  asses  de  mitsiqne?  gladly  repeated  Panshine, 
and  began  a  conversation  with  her — a  brisk  and  airy 
conversation,  carried  on  in  French.  "  Exactly  as  if  it 
were  in  one  of  the  best  Paris  drawing-rooms,"  thought 
Maria  Dmitrievna,  listening  to  their  quick  and  supple 
talk. 

Panshine  felt  completely  happy.  He  smiled,  and 
his  eyes  shone.  At  first,  when  he  happened  to  meet 
Maria  Dmitrievna's  eyes,  he  would  pass  his  hand  across 
his  face  and  frown  and  sigh  abruptly,  but  after  a  time 
he  entirely  forgot  her  presence,  and  gave  himself  up 
unreservedly  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  half-fashionable, 
half-artistic  chat. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  proved  herself  a  great  philospher. 
She  had  an  answer  ready  for  everything;  she  doubted 
nothing  ;  she  did  not  hesitate  at  anything.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  had  talked  often  and  much  with  all  kinds 
of  clever  people.  All  her  thoughts  and  feelings  circled 
around  Paris.  When  Panshine  made  literature  the  sub- 
ject of  the  conversation,  it  turned  out  that  she,  like 
him,  had  read  nothing  but  French  books.  George 
Sand  irritated  her;  Balzac  she  esteemed,  although  he 
wearied  her ;  to  Eugene  Sue  and  Scribe  she  ascribed  a 
profound  knowledge  of  the  human  heart ;  Dumas  and 
FeVal  she  adored.  In  reality  she  preferred  Paul  de 
Kock  to  all  the  others ;  but,  as  may  be  supposed,  she 
did  not  even  mention  his  name.  To  tell  the  truth, 
literature  did  not  interest  her  overmuch. 

Varvara  Pavlovna   avoided  with  great   skill   ever) 


268  Liza. 

thing  that  might,  even  remotely,  allude  to  her  position. 
In  all  that  she  said,  there  was  not  even  the  slightest 
mention  made  of  love  ;  on  the  contrary,  her  language 
seemed  rather  to  express  an  austere  feeling  with  regard 
to  the  allurements  of  the  passions,  and  to  breathe  the 
accents  of  disillusionment  and  resignation. 

Panshine  replied  to  her,  but  she  refused  to  agree 
with  him.  Strange  to  say,  however,  at  the  very  time 
when  she  was  uttering  words  which  conveyed  what 
was  frequently  a  harsh  judgment,  the  accents  of  those 
very  words  were  tender  and  caressing,  and  her  eyes  ex- 
pressed   What  those  charming  eyes  expressed  it 

would  be  hard  to  say,  but  it  was  something  which 
had  no  harshness  about  it,  rather  a  mysterious  sweet- 
ness. Panshine  tried  to  make  out  their  hidden  mean- 
ing, tried  to  make  his  own  eyes  eloquent,  but  he  was 
conscious  that  he  failed.  He  acknowledged  that  Var- 
vara  Pavlovna,  in  her  capacity  as  a  real  lioness  from 
abroad,  stood  on  a  higher  level  than  he  ;  and,  therefore, 
he  was  not  altogether  master  of  himself. 

Varvara  Pavlovna  had  a  habit  of  every  now  and 
then  just  touching  the  sleeve  of  the  person  with  whom 
she  was  conversing.  These  light  touches  greatly  agi- 
tated Panshine.  She  had  the  faculty  of  easily  becom- 
ing intimate  with  any  one.  Before  a  couple  of  hours 
had  passed,  it  seemed  to  Panshine  as  if  he  had  known 
her  an  age,  and  as  if  Liza — that  very  Liza  whom  he 
had  loved  so  much,  and  to  whom  he  had  proposed  the 
evening  before — had'  vanished  in  a  kind  of  fog. 


Liza.  269 

Tea  was  brought ;  the  conversation  became  even 
more  free  from  restraint  than  before..  Madame  Kalitine 
rang  for  the  page,  and  .told  him  to  ask  Liza  to  come 
clown  if  her  headache  was  better.  At  the  sound  of 
Liza's  name,  Panshine  began  to  talk  about  self-sacrifice, 
and  to  discuss  the  question  as  to  which  is  the  more 
capable  of  such  sacrifice — man  or  woman.  Maria  Dmi- 
trievua  immediately  became  excited,  began  to  affirm 
that  the  woman  .  is  the  more  capable,  asserted  that 
she  could  prove  the  fact  in  a  few  words,  got  confused 
over  them,  and  ended  with  a  sufficiently  unfortunate 
comparison.  Varvara  Pavlovna  took  up  a  sheet  of  mu- 
sic, and  half-screening  her  face  with  it,  bent  over  towards 
Panshine,  and  said  in  a  whisper,  while  she  nibbled 
a  biscuit,  a  quiet  smile  playing  about,  her  lips  and 
her  eyes,  "  Elle  n'a  pas  invente  la  poudre,  la  bonne  dame." 

Panshine  was  somewhat  astonished,  and  a  little 
alarmed  by  Varvara's  audacity,  but  he  did  not  detect 
the  amount  of  contempt  for  himself  that  lay  hid  in  that 
unexpected  sally,  and — forgetting  all  Maria  Dmitriev- 
na's  kindness  and  her  attachment  towards  him,  forget- 
ting the  dinners  she  had  given  him,  the  money  she  had 
lent  him — he  replied  (unhappy  mortal  that  he  was)  in 
the  same  tone,  and  with  *  a  similar  smile,  "Je  crois 
bien  !  "  and  what  is  more  he  did  not  even  say  "  Je  crois 
bien  !  "  but  "  y  crois  ben  !  " 

Varvara  Pavlovna  gave  him  a  friendly  look,  and  rose 
from  her  seat.  At  that  moment  Liza  entered  the  room. 
Marfa  Timofeevna  had  tried  to  prevent  her  going  bu/ 


tjo  Liza. 

in  vain.  Liza  was  resolved  to  endure  her  trial  to  the 
end.  Varvara  Pavlovna  advanced  to  meet  her,  attended 
by  Panshine,  whose  face  again  wore  its  former  diplo- 
matic expression. 

"  How  are  you  now  ?  "  asked  Varvara. 

"  I  am  better  now,  thank  you,"  replied  Liza. 

"  We  have  been  passing  the  time  with  a  little  mu- 
sic," said  Panshine.  "  It  is  a  pity  you  did  not  hear 
Varvara  Pavlovna.  She  sings  charmingly,  en  artiste 
consommce.  " 

"  Come  here,  ma  chere"  said  Madame  Kalitine's 
voice. 

With  childlike  obedience,  Varvara  immediately  went 
to  her,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool  at  her  feet.  Maria 
Dmitrievna  had  called  her  away,  in  order  that  she  might 
leave  her  daughter  alone  with  Panshine,  if  only  for  a 
moment.  She  still  hoped  in  secret  that  Liza  would 
change  her  mind.  Besides  this,  an  idea  had  come  into 
her  mind,  which  she  wanted  by  all  means  to  express. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  whispered  to  Varvara  Pavlovna, 
"  I  want  to  try  and  reconcile  you  and  your  husband.  T 
cannot  promise  to  succeed,  but  I  will  try.  He  esteems 
me  very  much,  you  know." 

Varvara  slowly  looked  up  at  Maria  Dmitrievna,  and 
gracefully  clasped  her  hands  together. 

"  You  would  be  my  saviour,  ma  tante"  she  said,  with 
a  sad  voice.  "  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you  properly 
for  all  your  kindness ;  but  I  am  too  guilty  before  Fedor 
Ivanovich.  He  Cannot  forgive  me." 


Liza. 


27? 


"  But  did  you  actually — in  reality —  ? "  began  Maria 
Dmitrievna,  with  lively  curiosity. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  said  Varvara,  interrupting  her, 

and  then  looked  down.  "  I  was  young,  light  headed 

However,  I  don't  wish  to  make  excuses  for  myself." 

"  Well,  in  spite  of  all  that,  why  not  make  the  attempt  ? 
Don't  give  way  to  despair."  replied  Maria  Dmitrievna, 
and  was  going  to  tap  her  on  the  cheek,  but  looked  at 
her,  and  was  afraid.  "  She  is  modest  and  discreet," 
she  thought,  "  but,  for  all  that,  a  lionne  still !  " 

"Are  you  unwell  ?  "  asked  Panshine,  meanwhile. 

"  I  am  not  quite  well,"  replied  Liza. 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  after  rather  a  long  silence, 
"Yes,  I  understand." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  understand,"  significantly  repeated  Panshine, 
who  simply  was  at  a  loss  for  something  to  say. 

Liza  felt  confused,  but  then  she  thought,  "  What 
does  it  matter  ?  " 

Meanwhile  Panshine  assumed  an  air  of  mystery  and 
maintained  silence,  looking  in  a  different  direction  with 
a  grave  expression  on  his  face. 

"  Why  I  fancy  it  must  be  past  eleven  !  "  observed 
Maria  Dmitrievna.  Her  guests  understood  the  hint  and 
began  to  take  leave.  Varvara  was  obliged  to  promise 
to  come  and  dine  to-morrow,  and  to  bring  Ada  with  her. 
Gedeonovskv,  who  had  all  but  gone  to  sleep  as  he  sat 
in  a  corner,  offered  to  escort  her  home.  Panshine 
bowed  gravely  to  all  the  party ;  afterwards,  as  he  stood 


272       .  Liza. 

on  the  steps  after  seeing  Varvara  into  her  carriage,  he 
gave  her  hand  a  gentle  pressure,  and  exclaimed,  as  she 
drove  away,  "  Au  revoirf'1  Gedeonovsky  sat  by  her 
side  in  the  carriage,  and  all  the  way  home  she  amused 
herself  by  putting  the  tip  of  her  little  foot,  as  if  by  ac- 
cident, on  his  foot.  He  felt  abashed,  and  tried  to  make 
her  complimentary  speeches.  She  tittered,  and  made 
eyes  at  him  when  the  light  from  the  street  lamps  shone 
into  the  carriage.  The  waltz  she  had  played  rang  in  her 
ears  and  excited  her.  Wherever  she  might  be  she  had 
only  to  imagine  a  ball-room  and  a  blaze  of  light,  and 
swift  circling  round  to  the  sound  of  music,  and  her  heart 
would  burn  within  her,  her  eyes  would  glow  with  a 
strange  lustre,  a  smile  would  wander  around  her  lips, 
a  kind  of  bacchanalian  grace  would  seem  to  diffuse 
itself  over  her  whole  body. 

When  they  arrived  at  her  house  Varvara  lightly 
bounded  from  the  carriage,  as  only  a  lionne  could  bound, 
turned  towards  Gedeonovsky,  and  suddenly  burst  out 
laughing  in  his  face. 

"  A  charming  creature,"  thought  the  councillor  of 
state,  as  he  made  his  way  home  to  his  lodgings,  where 
his  servant  was  waiting  for  him  with  a  bottle  of  opodel- 
doc. "  It's  as  well  that  I'm  a  steady  man But  why 

did  she  laugh  ?  " 

All  that  night  long  Marfa  Timofeevna  sat  watching 
by  Liza's  bedside. 


XXXIX. 

LAVRETSKY  spent  a  day  and  a  half  at  Vasilievskoe, 
wandering  about  the  neighborhood  almost  all  the  time. 
He  could  not  remain  long  in  any  one  place.  His  grief 
goaded  him  on.  He  experienced  all  the  pangs  of  a 
ceaseless,  impetuous,  and  impotent  longing.  He  re- 
membered the  feeling  which  had  come  over  him  the  day 
after  his  first  arrival.  He  remembered  the  resolution 
he  had  formed  then,  and  he  felt  angrily  indignant  with 
himself.  What  was  it  that  had  been  able  to  wrest  him 
aside  from  that  which  he  had  acknowledged  as  his  duty, 
the  single  problem  of  his  future  life  ?  The  thirst  after 
happiness — the  old  thirst  after  happiness.  "It  seems 
that  Mikhalevich  was  right  after  all,"  he  thought.  '•  You 
wanted  to  find  happiness  in  life  once  more,:>  he  said  to 
himself.  "  You  forgot  that  for  happiness  to  visit  a  man 
even  once  is  an  undeserved  favor,  a  steeping  in  luxury. 
Your  happiness  was  incomplete — was  false,  you  may 
say.  Well,  show  what  right  you  have  to  true  and  com- 
plete, happiness  !  Look  around  you  and  see  who  is 
happy,  who  enjoys  his  life  !  There  is  a  peasant  going 
to  the  field  to  mow.  It  may  be  that  he  is  satisfied  with 
his  lot.  But  what  of  that  ?  Would  you  be  willing  tc 
exchange  lots  with  him  ?  Remember  your  own  mother. 


274  Liza. 

How  exceedingly  modest  were  her  wishes,  and  yet  what 
sort  of  a  lot  fell  to  her  share  !  You  seem  to  have  only 
been  boasting  before  Panshine,  when  you  told  him  that 
you  had  come  into  Russia  to  till  the  soil.  It  was  to  run 
after  the  girls  in  your  old  age  that  you  came.  Tidings 
of  freedom  reached  you,  and  you  flung  aside  every 
thing,  forgot  every  thing,  ran  like  a  child  after  a  butter- 
fly." 

In  the  midst  of  his  reflections  the  image  of  Liza 
constantly  haunted  him.  By  a  violent  effort  he  tried  to 
drive  it  away,  and  along  with  it  another  haunting  face, 
other  beautiful  but  ever  malignant  and  hateful  features. 

Old  Anton  remarked  that  his  master  was  not  quite 
himself;  and.  after  sighing  several  times  behind  the 
door,  and  several  times  on  the  threshold,  he  ventured 
to  go  up  to  him,  and  advised  him  to  drink  something 
hot.  Lavretsky  spoke  to  him  harshly,  and  ordered  him 
out  of  the  room  :  afterwards  he  told  the  old  man  he  was 
sorry  he  had  done  so ;  but  this  only  made  Anton  sad- 
der than  he  had  been  before. 

Lavretsky  could  not  stop  in  the  drawing-room.  He 
fancied  that  his  great  grandfather,  Andrei,  was  looking 
out  from  his  frame  with  contempt  on  his  feeble  de- 
scendant. "  So  much  for  you  !  You  float  in  shallow 
water !  "  *  the  wry  lips  seemed  to  be  saying  to  him. 
"Is  it  possible,"  he  thought,  "that  I  cannot  gain  mas- 
tery over  myself;  that  I  am  going  to  yield  to  this 

*  Sec  note  to  page  142. 


Liza.  275 

this  trifling  affair  !  "  (Men  who  are  seriously  wounded 
in  a  battle  always  think  their  wounds  "  a  mere  trifle  ;  " 
when  a  man  can  deceive  himself  no  longer,  it  is  time 
to  give  up  living).  "  Am  I  really  a  child  ?  Well,  yes. 
I  have  seen  near  at  hand,  I  have  almost  grasped,  the 
possibility  of  gaining  a  life-long  happiness — and  thet 
it  has  suddenly  disappeared.  It  is  just  the  same  in  a 
lottery.  Turn  the  wheel  a  little  more,  and  the  paupei 
would  perhaps  be  rich.  If  it  is  not  to  be,  it  is  not  to 
be — and  all  is  over.  I  will  betake  me  to  my  work  with 
set  teeth,  and  I  will  force  myself  to  be  silent;  and  I 
shall  succeed,  for  it  is  not  for  the  first  time  that  I  take 
myself  in  hand.  And  why  have  I  run  away  ?  Why  do 
I  stop  here,  vainly  hiding  my  head,  like  an  ostrich  ? 
Misfortune  a  terrible  thing  to  look  in  the  face  !  Non- 
sense !  " 

"  Anton  !  "  he  called  loudly,  "  let  the  tarantass  be  got 
ready  immediately." 

"  Yes,"  he  said  to  himself  again.  "  I  must  compel 
myself  to  be  silent ;  I  must  keep  myself  tightly  in 
hand." 

With  such  reflections  as  these  Lavretsky  sought  to 
assuage  his  sorrow ;  but  it  remained  as  great  and  as  bit- 
ter as  before.  Even  Apraxia,  who  had  outlived,  not 
only  her  intelligence,  but  almost  all  her  faculties,  shook 
her  head,  and  followed  him  with  sad  eyes  as  he  started 
in  the  tarantass  for  the  town.  The  horses  galloped. 
He  sat  erect  and  motionless,  and  looked  straight  "  re 
him  along  the  road. 


XL. 

LIZA  had  written  to  Lavretsky  the  night  before  tell- 
ing him  to  come  and  see  her  on  this  evening ;  but 
he  went  to  his  own  house  first.  He  did  not  find  either 
his  wife  or  his  daughter  there  ;  and  the  servant  told 
him  that  they  had  both  gone  to  the  Kalitines' !  This 
piece  of  news  both  annoyed  and  enraged  him.  "  Var- 
vara  Pavlovna  seems  to  be  determined  not  to  let  me  live 
in  peace,"  he  thought,  an  angry  feeling  stirring  in  his 
heart.  He  began  walking  up  and  down  the  room, 
pushing  away  every  moment,  with  hand  or  foot,  one  of 
the  toys  or  books  or  feminine  belongings  which  fell 
in  his  way.  Then  he  called  Justine,  and  told  her  to 
take  away  all  that  "  rubbish." 

,"  Out,  monsieur"  she  replied,  with  a  grimace,  and 
began  to  set  the  room  in  order,  bending  herself  into 
graceful  attitudes,  and  by  each  of  her  gestures  making 
Lavretsky  feel  that  she  considered  him  an  uncivilized 
bear.  It  was  with  a  sensation  of  downright  hatred  that 
he  watched  the  mocking  expression  of  her  faded,  but 
still  piquante,  Parisian  face,  and  looked  at  her  white 
sleeves,  her  silk  apron,  and  her  little  cap.  At  last 
he  sent  her  away,  and,  after  long  hesitation,  as  Varvara 


Liza.  277 

Pavlovna  did  not  return,  he  determined  to  go  to  the 
Kalitines',  and  pay  a  visit,  not. to  Madame  Kalitine  (for 
nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  enter  her  drawing- 
room — that  drawing-room  in  which  his  wife  was),  but  to 
Marfa  Timofeevna.  He  remembered  that  a  back  stair- 
case, used  by  the  maid-servants,  led  straight  to  her 
room. 

Lavretsky  carried  out  his  plan.  By  a  fortunate 
chance  he  met  Shurochka  in  the  court-yard,  and  she 
brought  him  to  Marfa  Timofeevna.  He  found  the  old 
lady,  contrary  to  her  usual  custom,  alone.  She  was 
without  her  cap,  and  was  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  room 
in  a  slouching  attitude,  her  arms  folded  across  her 
breast.  When  she  saw  Lavretsky,  she  was  much  agi- 
tated, and  jumping  up  hastily  from  her  chair,  she  began 
going  here  and  there  about  the  room,  as  if  she  were 
looking  for  her  cap. 

"  Ah  !  so  you  have  come,  then,"  she  said,  fussing 
about  and  avoiding  his  eyes.  "  Well,  good  day  to  you  ! 
Well,  what's — what's  to  be  done  ?  Where  were  you 
yesterday  ?  Well,  she  has  come.  Well — yes.  Well,  it 
must  be — somehow  or  other/' 

Lavretsky  sank  upon  a  chair. 

"  Well,  sit  down,  sit  down,"  continued  the  old  lady. 
"  Did  you  come  straight  up-stairs  ?  Yes,  of  course. 
Eh !  You  came  to  see  after  me  ?  Many  thanks." 

The  old  lady  paused.  Lavretsky  did  not  know  what 
fo  say  to  her ;  but  she  understood  him. 

"  Liza — yes  ;  Liza  was  here  just  now,"  she  continued 


278  Liza. 

tying  and  untying  the  strings  of  her  work  bag.  "  She 
isn't  quite  well.  Shurochka,  where  are  you  ?  Come 
here,  my  mother  ;  cannot  you  sit  still  a  moment  ?  And 
I  have  a  headache  myself.  It  must  be  that  singing 
which  has  given  me  it,  and  the  music." 

"  What  singing,  aunt  ?  " 

"  What  ?  don't  you  know  ?  They  have  already  be- 
gun— what  do  you  call  them  ? — duets  down  there.  And 
all  in  Italian — chi-chi  and  cha-cha — regular  magpies. 
With  their  long  drawn-out  notes,  one  would  think  they 
were  going  to  draw  one's  soul  out.  It's  that  Panshine, 
and  your  wife  too.  And  how  quickly  it  was  all  ar- 
ranged !  Quite  without  ceremony,  just  as  if  among 
near  relations.  However,  one  must  say  that  even  a 
dog  will  try  to  find  itself  a  home  somewhere.  You 
needn't  die  outside  if  folks  don't  chase  you  away  from 
their  houses." 

"  I  certainly  must  confess  I  did  not  expect  this,"  an- 
swered Lavretsky.  "  This  must  have  required  consider- 
able daring." 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  isn't  daring  with  her,  it  is  calcu- 
lation. However,  God  be  with  her  !  They  say  you  are 
going  to  send  her  to  Lavriki.  Is  that  true  ? " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  going  to  make  over  that  property  to 
her." 

"  Has  she  asked  you  for  money  ? " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Well,  that  request  won't  be  long  in  coming.  But 
— I  haven't  looked  at  you  till  now — are  you  well  ?  " 


Liza.  279 

"  Quite  well." 

"  Shurochka !  "  suddenly  exclaimed  the  old  lady. 
"  Go  and  tell  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna — that  is — no — ask 
her Is  she  down-stairs  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  yes.  Ask  her  where  she  has  put  my  book 
She  will  know  all  about  it." 

"  Very  good." 

The  old  lady  commenced  bustling  about  again,  and 
began  to  open  the  drawers  in  her  commode.  Lavretsky 
remained  quietly  sitting  on  his  chair. 

Suddenly  light  steps  were  heard  on  the  staircase — 
and  Liza  entered. 

Lavretsky  stood  up  and  bowed.  Liza  remained 
near  the  door. 

"  Liza,  Lizochka,"  hurriedly  began  Marfa  Timofeev- 
na,  "  where  have  you — where  have  you  put  my  book  ?  '' 

"  What  book,  aunt  ?  " 

"  Why,  good  gracious !  that  book.  However,  I 
didn't  send  for  you — but  it's  all  the  same.  What  are 
you  all  doing  down-stairs  ?  Here  is  Fedor  Ivanovich 
come.  How  is  your  headache  ?  " 

"  It's  of  no  consequence." 

"You. always  say,  'It's  of  no  consequence.'  What 
are  you  all  doing  down  below  ? — having  music  again  ?  " 

"  No — They  are  playing  cards." 

"  Of  course  ;  she  is  ready  for  anything.  Shurochka, 
I  see  you  want  to  run  out  into  the  garden.  Be  off !  " 

"  No,  I  don't  Marfa  Timofeevna " 


280  Liza. 

"  No  arguing,  if  you  please.  Be  off.  Nastasia  Car- 
povna  has  gone  into  the  garden  by  herself.  Go  and 
keep  her  company.  You  should  show  the  old  lady  re- 
spect." 

Shurochka  left  the  room. 

"  But  where  is  my  cap  ?  Wherever  can  it  have  got 
to?" 

"  Let  me  look  for  it,"  said  Liza. 

"  Sit  still,  sit  still !  My  own  legs  haven't  dropped  off 
yet.  It  certainly  must  be  in  my  bed-room." 

And  Marfa  Timofeevna  went  away,  after  casting 
a  side-glance  at  Lavretsky.  At  first  she  left  the  door 
open,  but  suddenly  she  returned  and  shut  it  again  from 
the  outside. 

Liza  leant  back  in  her  chair  and  silently  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

Lavretsky  remained  standing  where  he  was. 

"  This  is  how  we  have  had  to  see  each  other  !  "  he 
said  at  last. 

Liza  let  her  hands  fall  from  before  her  face. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  sadly,  "  we  have  soon  been  pun- 
ished." 

"  Punished  !  "  echoed  Lavretsky.  "  For  what  have 
you,  at  all  events,  been  punished  ? " 

Liza  looked  up  at  him.  Her  eyes  did  not  express 
either  sorrow"  or  anxiety ;  but  they  seemed  to  have 
become  smaller  and  dimmer  than  they  used  to  be.  Her 
face  was  pale  ;  even  her  slightly-parted  lips  had  lost 
their  color. 


Liza.  281 

Lavretsky's  heart  throbbed  with  pily  and  with  love 

"  You  have  written  to  me  that  all  is  over,"  he  whis- 
pered. "  Yes,  all  is  over — before  it  had  begun." 

"All  that  must  be  forgotten,"  said  Liza.  "I  am 
glad  you  have  come.  I  was  going  to  write  to  you ;  but 
it  is  better  as  it  is.  Only  we  must  make  the  most  of 
these  few  minutes.  Each  of  us  has  .a  duty  to  fulfil. 
You,  Fedor  Ivanovich,  must  become  reconciled  with 
your  wife." 

"  Liza  !  " 

"  I  entreat  you  to  let  it  be  so.  By  this  alone  can 

expiation  be  made  for for  all  that  has  taken  place. 

Think  over  it,  and  then  you  will  not  refuse  my  re- 
quest." 

"  Liza !  for  God's  sake !  You  ask  what  is  impos- 
sible. I  am  ready  to  do  every  thing  you  tell  me  ;  but 

to  be  reconciled  with  her  now  ! I  consent  to  every 

thing,  I  have  forgotten  every  thing;  but  I  cannot  do 
violence  to  my  heart.  Have  some  pity  ;  this  is  cruel !  " 

"  But  I  do  not  ask  you  to  do  what  is  impossible. 
Do  not  live  with  her  if  you  really  cannot  do  so.  But  be 
reconciled  with  her,"  answered  Liza,  once  more  hiding 
her  face  in  her  hands.  "  Remember  your  daughter ; 
and,  besides,  do  it  for  my  sake." 

"Very  good,"  said  Lavretsky  between  his  teeth. 
"Suppose  I  do  this — in  this- 1  shall  be  fulfilling  my 
duty ;  well,  but  you  —  in  what  does  j'our  duty  con- 
sist ?  " 

"  That  I  know  perfectly  well.'; 


282  Liza. 

Lavretsky  suddenly  shuddered. 

"  Surely  you  have  not  made  up  your  mind  to  marry 
Panshine  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  replied  Liza,  with  an  almost  impercepti 
ble  smile. 

"  Ah  !  Liza,  Liza !  "  exclaimed  Lavretsky, "  how  hap- 
py we  might  hav,e  been  !  " 

Liza  again  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Now  even  you  must  see,  Fedor  Ivanovich,  that 
happiness  does  not  depend  upon  ourselves,  but  upon 
God." 

"  Yes,  because  you " 

The  door  of  the  next  room  suddenly  opened,  and 
Marfa  Timofeevna  came  in,  holding  her  cap  in  her 
hand. 

"  I  had  trouble  enough  to  find  it,"  she  said,  standing 
between  Liza  and  Lavretsky ;  "  I  had  stuffed  it  away 
myself.  Dear  me,  see  what  old  age  comes  to  !  But,  af- 
ter all,  youth  is  no  better.  Well,  are  you  going  to  Lav- 
riki  with  your  wife?"  she  added,  turning  to  Fedor  Ivan- 
ovich. 

"  To  Lavriki  with  her  ?  I  ? — I  don't  know,"  he  add- 
ed, after  a  short  pause. 

"  Won't  you  pay  a  visit  down  stairs  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day." 

"  Well,  very  good ;  do  as  you  please.  But  you, 
Liza,  ought  to  go  down-stairs,  I  think.  Ah !  my  dears. 
I've  forgotten  to  give  any  seed  to  my  bullfinch  too. 
Wait  a  minute  ;  I  will  be  back  directly." 


Liza.  283 

And  Marfa  Timofeevna.ran  out  of  the  room  -vith- 
out  even  having  put  on  her  cap.  • 

Lavretsky  quickly  drew  near  to  Liza. 

"  Liza,"  he  began,  with  an  imploring  voice,  "  we  are 
about  to  part  for  ever,  and  my  heart  is  very  heavy. 
Give  me  your  hand  at  parting." 

Liza  raised  her  head.  Her  wearied,  almost  lustre 
less  eyes  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"  No,"  she  said,  and  drew  back  the  hand  she  had 
half  held  out  to  him.  "  No,  Lavretsky  "  (it  was  the 
first  time  that  she  called  him  by  this  name),  "  I  will  not 
give  you  my  hand.  Why  should  I  ?  And  now  leave 
me,  I  beseech  you.  You  know  that  I  love  you — Yes,  I 
love  you  !  "  she  added  emphatically.  "  But  no — no  ;  " 
and  she  raised  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips. 

"  At  least,  then,  give  me  that  handkerchief " 

The  door  creaked.  The  handkerchief  glided  down 
to  Liza's  knees.  Lavretsky  seized  it  before  it  had  time 
to  fall  on  the  floor,  and  quickly  hid  it  away  in  his  pock- 
et ;  then,  as  he  turned  round,  he  encountered  the  glance 
of  Marfa  Timofeevna's  eyes. 

"  Lizochka,  I  think  your  mother  is  calling  you,"  said 
the  old  lady. 

Liza  immediately  got  up  from  her  chair,  and  left 
the  room. 

Marfa  Timofeevna  sat  down -again  in  her  corner. 
Lavretsky  was  going  to  take  leave  of  her. 

"  Fedia,"  she  said,  abruptly. 

"What,  Aunt?" 


284  Liza. 

"  Are  you  an  honorable  man  ?  " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  ask  you — Are  you  an  honorable  man  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Hm  !  Well,  then,  give  me  your  word  that  you  arc 
going  to  behave  like  an  honorable  man." 

"  Certainly.     But  why  do  you  ask  that  ?  " 

"  I  know  why,  perfectly  well.  And  so  do  you,  too, 
my  good  friend.*  As  you  are  no  fool,  you  will  under- 
stand why  I  ask  you  this,  if  you  will  only  think  over  it 
a  little.  But  now,  good-bye,  my  dear.  Thank  you  for 
coming  to  see  me ;  but  remember  what  I  have  said,  Fe- 
dia  ;  and  now  give  me  a  kiss.  Ah,  my  dear,  your  bur- 
den is  heavy  to  bear,  I  know  that.  But  no  one  finds 
his  a  light  one.  There  was  a  time  when  I  used  to  envy 
the  flies.  There  are  creatures,  I  thought,  who  live  hap- 
pily in  the  world.  But  one  night  I  heard  a  fly  singing 
out  under  a  spider's  claws.  So,  thought  I,  even  they 
have  their  troubles.  What  can  be  done,  Fedia  ?  But 
mind  you  never  forget  what  you  have  said  to  me.  And 
now  leave  me — leave  me." 

Lavretsky  left  by  the  back  door,  and  had  almost 
reached  the  street,  when  a  footman  ran  after  him  and 
said,  "  Maria  Dmitrievna  told  me  to  ask  you  to  come  to 
her." 

"  Tell  her  I  cannottome  just  now,"  began  Lavretsky. 

"  She  told  me  to  ask  you  particularly,"  continued  the 
footman.     "  She  told  me  to  say  that  she  was  alone." 
*  Literally,  "my  foster  father,"  or  "my  benefactor." 


285 

'•  Then  her  visitors  have  gone  away  ? "  asked  Lav- 
retsky. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  footman,  with  something  like  a 
grin  on  his  face. 

Lavretsky  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  followed  him 
into  the  house. 


XLI. 

MARIA  DMITRIEVNA  was  alone  in  her  boudoir.  She 
was  sitting  in  a  large  easy-chair,  sniffing  Eau-de-Co- 
logne, with  a  little  table  by  her  side,  on  which  was  a 
glass  containing  orange-flower  water.  She  was  evident- 
ly excited,  and  seemed  nervous  about  something. 

Lavretsky  came  into  the  room. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,"  he  said,  bowing  coldly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Maria  Dmitrievna,  and  then  she 
drank  a  little  water.  "  I  heard  that  you  had  gone 
straight  up-stairs  to  my  aunt,  so  I  told  the  servants 
to  ask  you  to  come  and  see  me.  I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  you.  Please  sit  down." 

Maria  Dmitrievna  took. breath.  "You  know  that 
your  wife  has  come,"  she  continued. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that  fact,"  said  Lavretsky. 

"  Well — yes — that  is — I  meant  to  say  that  she  has 
been  here,  and  I  have  received  her.  That  is  what  I 
wanted  to  have  the  explanation  about  with  you,  Fedor 
Ivanovich.  I  have  deserved,  I  may  say,  general  respect, 
thank  God !  and  I  wouldn't,  for  all  the  world,  do 
any  thing  unbecoming.  But,  although  I  saw  beforehand 
that  it  would  be  disagreeable  to  you,  Fedor  Ivanich,  yel 
1  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  to  refuse  her.  She  is  a  re 


Lizti.  287 

lation  of  mine — through  you.  Only  put  yourself  into 
my  position.  What  right  had  I  to  shut  my  door  in  her 
face  ?  Surely  you  must  agree  with  me." 

"  You  are  exciting  yourself  quite  unnecessarily, 
Maria  Dmitrievna,"  replied  Lavretsky.  "  You  have 
done  what  is  perfectly  right.  I  am  not  in  the  least 
angry.  I  never  intended  to  deprive  my  wife  of  the 
power  of  seeing  her  acquaintances.  I  did  not  come  to 
see  you  to-day  simply  because  I  did  not  wish  to  meet 
her.  That  was  all." 

"  Ah !  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  that,  Fedor 
Ivanich  !  "  exclaimed  Maria  Dmitrievna.  "  However,  I 
always  expected  as  much  from  your  noble  feelings. 
But  as  to  my  being  excited,  there's  no  wonder  in  that. 
I  am  a  woman  and  a  mother.  And  your  wife — of 
course  I  cannot  set  myseff  up  as  a  judge  between  you 
and  her,  I  told  her  so  herself;  but  she  is  such  a  charm- 
ing person  that  no  one  can  help  being  pleased  with 
her." 

Lavretsky  smiled  and  twirled  his  hat  in  his  hands. 

"  And  there  is  something  else  that  I  wanted  to 
say  to  you,  Fedor  Ivanich,"  continued  Maria  Dmitriev- 
na, drawing  a  little  nearer  to  him.  "  If  you  had  only 
seen  how  modestly,  how  respectfully  she  behaved !, 
Really  it  was  perfectly  touching.  And  if  you  had  only 
heard  how  she  spoke  of  you  !  '  1,'  she  said,  '  am  alto- 
gether guilty  before  him.'1  '  I,'  she  said,  'was  not  able 
to  appreciate  him.'  '  He,'  she  said,  '  is  an  angel,  not  a 
mere  man.'  I  can  assure  you  that's  what  she  said — '  an 


288  Liza. 

angel.'  She  is  so  penitent — I  do  solemnly  declare  I 
have  never  seen  any  one  so  penitent." 

"  But  tell  me,  Maria  Dmitrievna,"  said  Lavretsky, 
"  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  be  so  inquisitive.  I  hear  that 
Varvara  Pavlovna  has  been  singing  here.  Was  it  in 
one  of  her  penitent  moments  that  she  sang,  or  how —  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  talk  like  that  and  not  feel  ashamed 
of  yourself?  She  played  and  sang  simply  to  give  me 
pleasure,  and  because  I  particularly  entreated  her,  al- 
most ordered  her  to  do  so.  I  saw  that  she  was  unhap- 
py, so  unhappy,  and  I  thought  how  I  could  divert  her  a 
little ;  and  besides  that,  I  had  heard  that  she  had  so 
much  talent.  Do  show  her  some  pity,  Fedor  Ivanich — • 
she  is  utterly  crushed — only  ask  Gedeonovsky — broken 
down  entirely,  tout-a-fait.  How  can  you  say  such 
things  of  her  ?  " 

Lavretsky  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  And  besides,  what  a  little  angel  your  Adochka  is  ! 
What  a  charming  little  creature  !  How  pretty  she  is  ! 
and  how  good  !  and  how  well  she  speaks  French  !  And 
she  knows  Russian  too.  She  called  me  aunt  in  Rus- 
sian. And  then  as  to  shyness,  you  know,  almost  all 
children  of  her  age  are  shy  ;  but  she  is  not  at  all  so. 
It's  wonderful  how  like  you  she  is,  Fedor  Ivanich — 
eyes,  eyebrows,  in  fact  you  all  over — absolutely  you.  I 
don't  usually  like  such  young  children,  I  must  confess, 
but  I  am  quite  in  love  with  your  little  daughter." 

"  Maria  Dmitrievna,"  abruptly  said  Lavretsky,  "  al- 
.ow  me  to  inquire  why  you  are  saying  all  this  to  me  ? " 


289 

"  Why  ?  " — Maria  Dmitrievna  again  had  recourse  to 
her  Eau-de-Cologne  and  drank  some  water — "  why  I 
say  this  to  you,  Fedor  Ivanich,  is  because — you  see 
I  am  one  of  your  relations,  I  take  a  deep  interest  in 
you.  I  know  your  heart  is  excellent.  Mark  my  words, 
tmn  cousin — at  all  events  I  am  a  woman  of  experience, 
and  I  do  not  speak  at  random.  Forgive,  do  forgive 
your  wife  !  "  (Maria  Dmitrievna's  eyes  suddenly  filled 
with  tears.)  "  Only  think — youth,  inexperience,  and 
perhaps  also  a  bad  example — hers  was  not  the  sort  of 
mother  to  put  her  in  the  right  way.  Forgive  her,  Fe- 
dor Ivanich  !  She  has  been  punished  enough." 

The  tears  flowed  down  Maria  Dmitrievna's  cheeks. 
She  did  not  wipe  them  away  ;  she  was  fond  of  weeping. 
Meanwhile  Lavretsky  sat  as  if  on  thorns.  "  Good 
God  !  "  he  thought,  "  what  torture  this  is  !  What  a  day 
this  has  been  for  me  !  " 

"  You  do  not  reply,"  Maria  Dmitrievna  recom- 
menced :  "  how  am  I  to  understand  you  ?  Is  it  possible 
that  you  can  be  so  cruel  ?  No,  I  cannot  believe  that. 
T  feel  that  my  words  have  convinced  you.  Fedor  Ivan- 
ich, God  will  reward  you  for  your  goodness  !  Now 
from  my  hands  receive  your  wife  !  " 

Lavretsky  jumped  up  from  his  chair  scarcely  know 
ing  what  he  was  doing.  Maria  Dmitrievna  had  risen 
also,  and  had  passed  rapidly  to  the  other  side  of  the 
screen,  from  behind  which  she  brought  out  Madame 
Lavretsky.  Pale,  half  lifeless,  with  downcast  eyes,  that 
lady  seemed  as  if  she  had  surrendered  her  whole  power 
13 


29°  Liza. 

of  thinking  or  willing  for  herself,  and  had  given  hen   If 
over  entirely  into  the  hands  of  Maria  Dmitrievna. 

Lavretsky  recoiled  a  pace. 

"  You  have  been  there  all  this  time  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Don't  blame  her,"  Maria  Dmitrievna  hastened  to 
say.  "  She  wouldn't  have  stayed  for  any  thing ;  but  I 
made  her  stay ;  I  put  her  behind  the  screen.  She  de- 
clared that  it  would  make  you  angrier  than  ever ;  but 
I  wouldn't  even  listen  to  her.  I  know  you  better  than  she 
does.  Take  then  from  my  hands  your  wife  !  Go  to 
him,  Varvara ;  have  no  fear;  fall  at  your  husband's 
feet "  (here  she  gave  Varvara's  arm  a  pull),  "  and  may 
my  blessing " 

"  Stop,  Maria  Dmitrievna  !  "  interposed  Lavretsky, 
in  a  voice  shaking  with  emotion.  "  You  seem  to  like 
sentimental  scenes."  (Lavretsky  was  not  mistaken  ; 
from  her  earliest  school-days  Maria  Dmitrievna  had  al- 
ways been  passionately  fond  of  a  touch  of  stage  effect  N 
"  They  may  amuse  you,  but  to  other  people  they  ma 
prove  very  unpleasant.  However,  I  am  not  going  to 
talk  to  you.  In  this  scene  you  do  not  play  the  leading 
part." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  from  me,  Madame  ?  "  he  added, 
turning  to  his  wife.  "  Have  I  not  done  for  you  all  that 
I  could?  Do  not  tell  me  that  it  was  not  you  who  got 
up  this  scene.  I  should  not  believe  you.  You  know  that 
I  cannot  believe  you.  What  is  it  you  want  ?  You  are 
clever.  You  do  nothing  without  an  object.  You  must 
feel  that  to  live  with  you,  as  I  used  formerly  to  live,  is 


Liza.  291 

what  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  do — not  because  I  am 
angry  with  you,  but  because  I  have  become  a  different 
man.  I  told  you  that  the  very  day  you  returned ;  and 
at  that  time  you  agreed  with  me  in  your  own  mind.  But, 
perhaps,  you  wish  to  rehabilitate  yourself  in  public 
opinion.  Merely  to  live  in  my  house  is  too  little  for 
you  ;  you  want  to  live  with  me  under  the  same  roof. 
Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  pardon  me,"  replied  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna,  without  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"  She  wants  you  to  pardon  her,"  repeated  Maria 
Dmitrievna. 

"  And  not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  Ada's,"  whis- 
pered Varvara. 

"  Not  for  her  own  sake,  but  for  your  Ada's,"  repeat- 
ed Maria  Dmitrievna. 

"  Very  good  !  That  is  what  you  want  ?  "  Lavretsky 
just  managed  to  say.  "  Well,  I  consent  even  to  that." 

Varvara  Pavlovna  shot  a  quick  glance  at  him.  Ma- 
ria Dmitrievna  exclaimed,  "  Thank  God  !  "  again  took 
Varvara  by  the  arm,  and  again  began,  "  Take,  then, 
from  my  hands " 

"  Stop,  I  tell  you !  "  broke  in  Lavretsky.  "  I  will 
consent  to  live  with  you,  Varvara  Pavlovna,"  he  contin- 
ued ;  "  that  is  to  say,  I  will  take  you  to  Lavriki,  and 
live  with  you  as  long  as  I  possibly  can.  Then  I  will  go 
away ;  but  I  will  visit  you  from  time  to  time.  You  see, 
I  do  not  wish  to  deceive  you  ;  only  do  not  ask  for  more 
than  that.  You  would  laugh  yourself,  if  I  were  to  ful- 


292  Lisa. 

fii  the  wish  of  our  respected  relative,  and  press  you  to 
my  heart — if  I  were  to  assure  you  that — that  the  past 
did  not  exist,  that  the  felled  tree  would  again  produce 
leaves.  But  I  see  this  plainly — one  must  submit.  These 
words  do  not  convey  the  same  meaning  to  you  as  to  me, 
but  that  does  not  matter.  I  repeat,  I  will  live  with  you 
— or,  no,  I  cannot  promise  that ;  but  I  will  no  longer 
avoid  you ;  I  will  look  on  you  as  my  wife  again " 

"At  all  events,  give  her  your  hand  on  that,"  said 
Maria  Dmitrievna,  whose  tears  had  dried  up  long  ago. 

"  I  have  never  yet  deceived  Varvara  Pavlovna,"  an- 
swered Lavretsky.  "  She  will  believe  me  as  it  is.  I 
will  take  her  to  Lavriki.  But  remember  this,  Varvara 
Pavlovna.  Our  treaty  will  be  considered  at  an  end,  as 
soon  as  you  give  up  stopping  there.  And  now  let  me 
go  away." 

He  bowed  to  both  of  the  ladies,  and  went  out 
Quickly. 

"  Won't  you  take  her  with  you  ?  "  Maria  Dmitrievna 
called  after  him. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  Varvara  to  her  in  a  whisper, 
and  then  began  to  express  her  thanks  to  her,  throwing 
her  arms  around  her,  kissing  her  hand,  saying  she  had 
saved  her. 

Maria  Dmitrievna  condescended  to  accept  her  ca- 
resses, but  in  reality  she  was  not  contented  with  her  ; 
nor  was  she  contented  with  Lavretsky,  nor  with  the 
whole  scene  which  she  had  taken  so  much  pains  to  ar- 
range. There  had  been  nothing  sentimental  about  it. 


Liza.  293 

According  to  her  ideas  Varvara  Pavlovna  ought  to  have 
thrown  herself  at  her  husband's  feet. 

"  How  was  it  you  didn't  understand  what  I  meant  ?  " 
she  kept  saying.  "  Surely  I  said  to  you,  '  Down  with 
you  ! ' " 

"  It  is  better  as  it  is,  my  dear  aunt.  Don't  disturb 
yourself — all  has  turned  out  admirably,"  declared  Var- 
vara Pavlovna. 

"  Well,  anyhow  he  is — as  cold  as  ice,"  said  Maria 
Dmitrievna.  "  It  is  true  you  didn't  cry,  but  surely  my 
tears  flowed  before  his  eyes.  So  he  wants  to  shut  you 
up  at  Lavriki.  What !  You  won't  be  able  to  come  out 
even  to  see  me  !  All  men  are  unfeeling,"  she  ended 
by  saying,  and  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of  deep 
meaning. 

"  But  at  all  events  women  can  appreciate  goodness 
and  generosity,"  said  Varvara  Pavlovna.  Then,  slowly 
sinking  on  her  knees,  she  threw  her  arms  around  Maria 
Dmitrievna's  full  waist,  and  hid  her  face  in  that  lady's 
lap.  That  hidden  face  wore  a  smile,  but  Maria  Dmit- 
rievna's tears  began  to  flow  afresh. 

As  for  Lavretsky,  he  returned  home,  shut  himself 
up  in  his  valet's  room,  flung  himself  on  the  couch,  and 
lay  there  till  the  morning. 


XLII. 

THE  next  day  was  Sunday.  Lavretsky  was  not 
iwakened  by  the  bells  which  clanged  for  early  Mass, 
for  he  had  no^  closed  his  eyes  all  night;  but  they  re- 
minded him  of  another  Sunday,  when  he  went  to  church 
ai  Liza's  request.  He  rose  in  haste.  A  certain  secret 
voice  told  him  that  to-day  also  he  would  see  her  there. 
He  left  the  house  quietly,  telling  the  servant  to  say  to 
Varvara  Pavlovna,  who  was  still  asleep,  that  he  would 
be  back  to  dinner,  and  then,  with  long  steps,  he  went 
where  the  bell  called  him  with  its  dreary  uniformity  of 
sound. 

He  arrived  early ;  scarcely  any  one  was  yet  in  the 
church.  A  Reader  was  reciting  the  Hours  in  the  choir. 
His  voice,  sometimes  interrupted  by  a  cough,  sounded 
monotonously,  rising  and  falling  by  turns.  Lavretsky 
placed  himself  at  a  little  distance  from  the  door.  The 
worshippers  arrived,  one  after  another,  stopped,  crossed 
themselves,  and  bowed  in  all  directions.  Their  steps 
resounded  loudly  through  the  silent  and  almost  empty 
space,  and  echoed  along  the  vaulted  roof.  An  infirm 
old  woman,  wrapped  in  a  threadbare  hooded  cloak,  knelt 
by  Lavretsky's  side  and  prayed  fervently.  Her  tooth- 
less, yellow,  wrinkled  face  expressed  intense  emotion. 


Liza.  295 

Her  bloodshot  eyes  gazed  upwards,  without  moving,  on 
the  holy  figures  displayed  upon  the  iconostasis.  Her 
bony  hand  kept  incessantly  coming  out  from  under  her 
cloak,  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross — with  a  slow 
and  sweeping  gesture,  and  with  steady  pressure  of  the 
fingers  on  the  forehead  and  the  body.  A  peasant  with 
a  morose  and  thickly-bearded  face,  his  hair  and  clothes 
all  in  disorder,  came  into  the  church,  threw  himself 
straight  clown  on  his  knees,  and  immediately  began 
crossing  and  prostrating  himself,  throwing  back  his  head 
and  shaking  it  after  each  inclination.  So  bitter  a  grief 
showed  itself  in  his  face  and  in  all  his  gestures,  that 
Lavretsky  went  up  to  him  and  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter.  The  peasant  sank  back  with  an  air  of  distrust ; 
then,  looking  at  him  coldly,  said  in  a  hurried  voice, 
"My  son  is  dead,"  and  again  betook  himself  to  his 
prostrations. 

"  What  sorrow  can  they  have  too  great  to  defy  the 
consolations  of  the  Church  ?  "  thought  Lavretsky,  and 
he  tried  to  pray  himself.  But  his  heart  seemed  heavy 
and  hardened,  and  his  thoughts  were  afar  off.  He  kept 
waiting  for  Liza ;  but  Liza  did  not  come.  The  church 
gradually  filled  with  people,  but  he  did  not  see  Liza 
among  them.  Mass  began,  the  deacon  read  the  Gos- 
pel, the  bell  sounded  for  the  final  prayer.  Lavretsky 
advanced  a  few  steps,  and  suddenly  he  caught  sight  of 
Liza.  She  had  come  in  before  him,  but  he  had  not  ob- 
served her  till  now.  Standing  in  the  space  between  the 
wall  and  the  choir,  to  which  she  had  pressed  as  close  as 


296 

possible,  she  never  once  looked  round,  never  moved 
from  her  place.  Lavretsky  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  hei 
till  the  service  was  quite  finished  ;  he  was  bidding  her  a 
last  farewell.  The  congregation  began  to  disperse,  but 
she  remained  standing  there.  She  seemed  to  be  wait- 
ing for  Lavretsky  to  go  away.  At  last,  however,  she 
crossed  herself  for  the  last  time,  and  went  out  without 
turning  round.  No  one  but  a  maid-servant  was  with 
her. 

Lavretsky  followed  her  out  of  the  church,  and  came 
up  with  her  in  the  street.  She  was  walking  very  fast, 
her  head  drooping,  her  veil  pulled  low  over  her  face. 

"  Good-day,  Lizaveta  Mikhailovna,"  he  said  in  a 
loud  voice,  with  feigned  indifference.  "  May  I  accom- 
pany you  ? " 

She  made  no  reply.     He  walked  on  by  her  side. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  with  me  ? "  he  asked,  lowering 
his  voice.  "  You  have  heard  what  took  place  yester- 
day, I  suppose  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  answered  in  a  whisper  ;  "  that  was 
very  good  ;  "  and  she  quickened  her  pace. 

"  Then  you  are  satisfied  ?  " 

Liza  only  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"  Fedor  Ivanovich,"  she  began,  presently,  in  a  calm 
but  feeble  voice,  "  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something.  Do 
not  come  any  more  to  our  house.  Go  away  soon.  We 
may  see  each  other  by-and-by — some  day  or  other — a 
year  hence,  perhaps.  But  now,  do  this  for  my  sake.  In 
God's  name,  I  beseech  you,  do  what  I  ask ! " 


.- . 
Liza.  297 

"  I  am  ready  to  obey  you  in  every  thing,  Lizavela 
Mikhailovna.  But  can  it  be  that  we  must  part  thus  ? 
Is  it  possible  that  you  will  not  say  a  single  word  to 
me  ?  " 

"  Fedor  Ivanovich,  you  are  walking  here  by  my  side. 
But  you  are  already  so  far,  far  away  from  me ;  and  not 
only  you,  but " 

"  Go  on,  I  entreat  you ! "  exclaimed  Lavretsky. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  You  will  hear,  perhaps But  whatever  it  may 

be,  forget No,  do  not  forget  me — remember  me." 

"  I  forget  you  ? " 

"  Enough.     Farewell.     Please  do  not  follow  me." 

"  Liza "  began  Lavretsky. 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  "  she  repeated,  and  then,  draw- 
ing her  veil  still  lower  over  her  face,  she  went  away, 
almost  at  a  run. 

Lavretsky  looked  after  her  for  a  time,  and  then 
walked  down  the  street  with  drooping  head.  Presently 
he  ran  against  Lemm,  who  also  was  walking  along  with 
his  hat  pulled  low  over  his  brows,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on 
his  feet. 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  a  time  in  silence. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  "  asked  Lavretsky  at 
last. 

"  What  have  I  to  say  ? "  replied  Lemm,  in  a  surly 
voice.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say.  '  All  is  dead  and  we 
are  dead.'  ('  Alles  ist  todt  nnd  wir  sind  todt.'}  Do  you 

go  to  the  right  ?  " 
M* 


*98  Liza. 

il  Yes/' 

"And  I  am  going  to  the  left.     Good-bye." 

On  the  following  morning  Lavretsky  took  his  wife 
to  Lavriki.  She  went  in  front  in  a  carriage  with  Adi 
and  Justine.  He  followed  behind  in  a  tarantass.  Urn- 
ing  the  whole  time  of  the  journey,  the  little  girl  never 
stirred  from  the  carrjage-window.  Every  thing  aston- 
ished her:  the  peasant  men  and  women,  the  cottages, 
the  wells,  the  arches  over  the  horses'  necks,  the  little 
bells  hanging  from  them,  and  the  numbers  of  rooks. 
Justine  shared  her  astonishment.  Varvara  Pavlovna 
kept  laughing  at  their  remarks  and  exclamations.  She 
was  in  excellent  spirits ;  she  had  had  an  explanation 
with  her  husband  before  leaving  O. 

"I  understand  your  position,"  she  had  said  to  him  ; 
and,  from  the  expression  of  her  quick  eyes,  he  could 
see  that  she  did  completely  understand  his  position. 
"But  you  will  do  me  at  least  this  justice — you  will  allow 
that  I  am  an  easy  person  to  live  with.  I  shall  not  ob-» 
trude  myself  on  you,  or  annoy  you.  I  only  wished  to 
ensure  Ada's  future  ;  I  wrant  nothing  more." 

"  Yes,  you  have  attained  all  your  ends,"  said  Lavret- 
sky. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  I  dream  of  now ;  to  bury 
myself  for  ever  in  seclusion.  But  I  shall  always  re- 
member your  kindness " 

"  There  !  enough  of  that !  "  said  he,  trying  to  sf  op 
her. 


Liza.  299 

"  And  I  shall  know  how  to  respect  your  tranquillity 
and  your  independence,"  she  continued,  bringing  her 
preconcerted  speech  to  a  close. 

Lavretsky  bowed  low.  Varvara  understood  that  hei 
husband  silently  thanked  her. 

The  next  day  they  arrived  at  Lavriki  towards  even- 
ing. A  week  later  Lavretsky  went  away  to  Moscow, 
having  left  five  thousand  roubles  at  his  wife's  disposal ; 
and  the  day  after  Lavretsky's  departure,  Panshine  ap- 
peared, whom  Varvara  Pavlovna  had  entreated  not  to 
forget  her  in  her  solitude.  She  received  him  in  the  most 
cordial  manner ;  and,  till  late  that  night,  the  lofty  rooms 
of  the  mansion  and  the  very  garden  itself  were  enli- 
vened by  the  sounds  of  music,  and  of  song,  and  of  joy- 
ous French  talk.  Panshine  spent  three  days  with  Var- 
vara Pavlovna.  When  saying  farewell  to  her,  and 
warmly  pressing  her  beautiful  hands,  he  promised  to 
return  very  soon — and  he  kept  his  word. 


XLIII. 

LIZA  had  a  little  room  of  her  own  on  the  second  floor 
of  her  mother's  house,  a  bright,  tidy  room,  with  a  bed- 
stead with  white  curtains  in  it,  a  small  writing-table, 
several  flower-pots  in  the  corners  and  in  front  of  the 
windows,  and  fixed  against  the  wall  a  set  of  bookshelves 
and  a  crucifix.  It  was  called  the  nursery ;  Liza  had 
been  born  in  it. 

After  coming  back  from  the  church  where  Lavretsky 
had  seen  her,  she  set  all  her  things  in  order  with  even 
more  than  usual  care,  dusted  every  thing,  examined  all 
her  papers  and  letters  from  her  friends,  and  tied  them 
up  with  pieces  of  ribbon,  shut  up  all  her  drawers,  and 
watered  her  flowers,  giving  each  flower  a  caressing 
touch.  And  all  this  she  did  deliberately,  quietly,  with 
a  kind  of  sweet  and  tranquil  earnestness  in  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face.  At  last  she  stopped  still  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  and  looked  slowly  around  her;  then 
she  approached  the  table  over  which  hung  the  crucifix, 
fell  on  her  knees,  laid  her  head  on  her  clasped  hands, 
and  remained  for  some  time  motionless.  Presently 
Marfa  Timofeevna  entered  the  room  and  found  her  in 
that  position.  Liza  did  not  perceive  her  arrival.  The  old 
lady  went  out  of  the  room  on  tiptoe,  and  coughed  loudly 


Liza. 


301 


several  times  outside  the  door.  Liza  hastily  rose  and 
wiped  her  eyes,  which  shone  with  gathered  but  not 
fallen  tears. 

"  So  I  see  you  have  arranged  your  little  cell  afresh," 
said  Marfa  Timofeevna,  bending  low  over  a  young  rose- 
tree  in  one  of  the  flower-pots.  "  How  sweet  this 
smells ! " 

Liza  looked  at  her  aunt  with  a  meditative  air. 

"  What  was  that  word  you  used  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  What  word — what  ?  "  sharply  replied  the  old  lady. 
"  It  is  dreadful,"  she  continued,  suddenly  pulling  off 
her  cap  and  sitting  down  on  Liza's  bed.  "  It  is  more 
than  I  can  bear.  This  is  the  fourth  day  I've  been  just 
as  if  I  were  boiling  in  a  cauldron.  I  cannot  any  longer 
pretend  I  don't  observe  any  thing.  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
you  crying,  to  see  how  pale  and  withered  you  are  grow- 
ing. I  cannot — I  cannot." 

"  But  what  makes  you  say  that  aunt  ? "  said  Liza. 
"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  I " 

"Nothing?"  exclaimed  Marfa  Timofeevna.  "Tell 
that  to  some  one  else,  not  to  me  !  Nothing !  But  who 
was  on  her  knees  just  now  ?  Whose  eyelashes  are 
still  wet  with  tears  ?  Nothing  !  Why,  just  look  at  your- 
'self,  what  have  you  done  to  your  face?  where  are 
your  eyes  gone  ?  Nothing,  indeed !  As  if  I  didn't 
know  all !  " 

"  Give  me  a  little  time,  aunt.  All  this  will  pass 
away." 

"  Will  pass  away  !     Yes,  but  when  ?     Good  heavens  I 


302  Liza. 

is  it  possible  you  have  loved  him  so  much  ?  Why,  he 
is  quite  an  old  fellow,  Lizochka  !  Well,  well !  I  don't 
deny  he  is  a  good  man  ;  will  not  bite  ;  but  what  of  that  ? 
We  are  all  good  people ;  the  world  isn't  shut  up  in  a 
corner,  there  will  always  be  plenty  of  this  sort  of  good- 
ness." 

"  I  can  assure  you  all  this  will  pass  away — all  this 
has  already  passed  away." 

"Listen  to  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  Lizochka," 
suddenly  said  Marfa  Timofeevna,  making  Liza  sit  down 
beside  her  on  the  bed,  smoothing  down  the  girl's  hair, 
and  setting  her  neckerchief  straight  while  she  spoke. 
"  It  seems  to  you,  in  the  heat  of  the  moment,  as  if  it 
were  impossible  for  your  wound  to  be  cured.  Ah,  my 
love,  it  is  only  death  for  which  there  is  no  cure.  Only 
say  to  yourself,  '  I  won't  give  in — so  much  for  him  !  ' 
and  you  will  be  surprised  yourself  to  see  how  well  and 
how  quickly  it  will  all  pass  away.  Only  have  a  little 
patience." 

"  Aunt,"  replied  Liza,"  it  has  already  passed  away. 
All  has  passed  away." 

"  Passed  away  !  how  passed  away  ?  Why  your  nose 
has  actually  grown  peaky,  and  yet  you  say — '  passed 
away.'  Passed  away  indeed  !  " 

"  Yes,  passed  away,  aunt — if  only  you  are  willing  to 
help  me,'1  said  Liza,  with  unexpected  animation,  and 
then  threw  her  arms  round  Marfa  Timofeevna's  neck. 
"  Dearest  aunt,  do  be  a  friend  to  me,  do  help  me,  don't 
be  angry  with  me,  try  to  understand  me " 


Liza.  303 

"But  what  is  all  this,  what  is  all  this,  my  mother? 
Don't  frighten  me,  please.  I  shall  cry  out  in  another 
minute.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that :  quick,  tell  me  what 
is  the  meaning  of  all  this  !  " 

"  I — I  want "     Here  Liza  hid  her  face  on  Marfa 

Timofeevna's  breast.     "  I  want  to  go  into  a  convent," 
she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

The  old  lady  fairly  bounded  off  the  bed. 

"  Cross  yourself,  Lizochka !  gather  your  senses  to- 
gether !  what  ever  are  you  about  ?  Heaven  help  you  !  " 
at  last  she  stammered  out.  "  Lie  down  and  sleep  a  lit- 
tle, my  darling.  And  this  comes  of  your  want  of  sleep, 
dearest." 

Liza  raised  her  head  ;  her  cheeks  glowed. 

"  No,  aunt,"  she  said,  "  do  not  say  that.  I  have 
prayed,  I  have  asked  God's  advice,  and  I  have  made  up 
my  mind.  All  is  over.  My  life  with  you  here  is  ended. 
Such  lessons  are  not  given  to  us  without  a  purpose  ; 
besides,  it  is  not  for  the  first  time  that  I  think  of  it  now. 
Happiness  was  not  for  me.  Even  when  I  did  indulge 
in  hopes  of  happiness,  my  heart  shuddered  within  me. 
I  know  all,  both  my  sins  and  those  of  others,  and  how 
papa  made  our  money.  I  know  all,  and  all  that  I  must 
pray  away,  must  pray  away.  I  grieve  to  leave  you,  I 
grieve  for  mamma  and  for  Lenochka  ;  but  there  is  no 
help  for  it.  I  feel  that  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  live 
here  longer.  I  have  already  taken  leave  of  every  thing, 
I  have  greeted  every  thing  in  the  house  for  the  last  time. 
Something  calls  me  awav.  I  am  sad  at  heart,  and  J 


304  Liza. 

would  fain  hide  myself  away  for  ever.  Please  don't 
hinder  me  or  try  to  dissuade  me ;  but  d  :>  help  me,  or  J 
shall  have  to  go  away  by  myself." 

Marfa  Timofeevna  listened  to  her  niece  with  horror. 

"  She  is  ill,"  she  thought.  "  She  is  raving.  We 
must  send  for  a  doctor;  but  for  whom  ?  Gedeonovsky 
praised  some  one  the  other  day;  but  then  he  always 
lies — but  perhaps  he  has  actually  told  the  truth  this 
time." 

But  when  she  had  become  convinced  that  Liza  was 
not  ill,  and  was  not  raving — when  to  all  her  objections 
Liza  had  constantly  made  the  same  reply,  Marfa  Ti- 
mofeevna  was  thoroughly  alarmed,  and  became  exceed- 
ingly- sorrowful. 

"  But  surely  you  don't  know,  my  darling,  what  sort 
of  life  they  lead  in  convents  !  "  thus  she  began,  in  hopes 
of  dissuading  her.  "  Why  they  will  feed  you  on  yellow 
hemp  oil,  my  own  ;  they  will  dress  you  in  coarse,  very 
coarse  clothing ;  they  will  make  you  go  out  in  the  cold  ; 
you  will  never  be  able  to  bear  all  this  Lizochka.  All 
these  ideas  of  yours  are  Agafia's  doing.  It  is  she  who 
has  driven  you  out  of  your  senses.  But  then  she  began 
with  living,  and  with  living  to  her  own  satisfaction. 
Why  shouldn't  you  live  too  ?  At  all  events,  let  me  die  in 
peace,  and  then  do  as  you  please.  And  who  on  earth 
has  ever  known  any  one  go  into  a  convent  for  the  sake 
of  such-a-one — for  a  goat's  beard — God  forgive  me — 
for  a  man !  Why,  if  you're  so  sad  at  heart,  you  should 
pay  a  visit  to  a  convent,  pray  to  a  saint,  order  prayers 


Liza.  305 

to  be  said,  but  don't  put  the  black  veil  on  your  head, 
my  batyushka,  my  matyushka." 

And  Marfa  Timofeevna  cried  bitterly. 

Liza  tried  to  console  her,  wiped  the  tears  from  hei 
eyes,  and  cried  herself,  but  maintained  her  purpose  un- 
shaken. In  her  despair,  Marfa  Timofeevna  tried  to 
turn  threats  to  account,  said  she  would  reveal  every 
thing  to  Liza's  mother  ;  but  that  too  had  no  effect.  All 
that  Liza  would  consent  to  do  in  consequence  of  the 
old  lady's  urgent  entreaties,  was  to  put  off  the  execution 
of  her  plan  for  a  half  year.  In  return  Marfa  Timofeev- 
na was  obliged  to  promise  that,  if  Liza  had  not  changed 
her  mind  at  the  end  of  the  six  months,  she  would  her- 
self assist  in  the  matter,  and  would  contrive  to  obtain 
Madame  Kalitine?s  consent. 

As  soon  as  the  first  cold  weather  arrived,  in  spite  of 
her  promise  to  bury  herself  in  seclusion,  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna,  who  had  provided  herself  with  sufficient  funds, 
migrated  to  St.  Petersburg.  A  modest,  but  pretty  set 
of  rooms  had  been  found  for  her  there  by  Panshine, 
who  had  left  the  province  of  O.  rather  earlier  than  she 
did.  During  the  latter  part  of  his  stay  in  O.,  he  had 
completely  lost  Madame  Kalitine's  good  graces.  He 
had  suddenly  given  up  visiting  her,  and  indeed  scarcely 
stirred  away  from  Lavriki.  Varvara  Pavlovna  had  en- 
slaved— literally  enslaved  him.  No  other  word  can  ex- 
press the  unbounded  extent  of  the  despotic  sway  she 
exercised  over  him. 


306  Liza. 

Lavretsky  spent  the  winter  in  Moscow.  In  the  spring 
of  the  ensuing  year  the  news  reached  him  that  Liza  had 
taken  the  veil  in  the  B.  convent,  in  one  of  the  most  re- 
mote districts  of  Russia. 


EPILOGUE. 

EIGHT  years  passed  away.  The  spring  had  come 
again 

But  we  will  first  of  all  say  a  few  words  about  the 
fate  of  Mikhalevich,  Panshine,  and  Madame  Lavretsky, 
and  then  take  leave  of  them  forever. 

Mikhalevich,  after  much  wandering  to  and  fro,  at  last 
hit  upon  the  business  he  was  fitted  for,  and  obtained 
the  post  of  Head  Inspector  in  one  of  the  Government 
Educational  Institutes.  His  lot  thoroughly  satisfies 
him,  and  his  pupils  "  adore  "  him,  though  at  the  same 
time  they  mimic  him.  Panshine  has  advanced  high  in 
the  service,  and  already  aims  at  becoming  the  head  of 
a  department.  He  stoops  a  little  as  he  walks ;  it  must 
be  the  weight  of  the  Vladimir  Cross  which  hangs  from 
his  neck,  that  bends  him  forward.  In  him  the  official 
decidedly  preponderates  over  the  artist  now.  His  face, 
though  still  quite  young,  has  grown  yellow,  his  hair  is 
thinner  than  it  used  to  be,  and  he  neither  sings  nor  draws 
any  longer.  But  he  secretly  occupies  himself  with  lit- 
erature. He  has  written  a  little  comedy  in  the  style  of 
a  "  proverb  ;  "  and — as  every  one  who  writes  now  con- 
stantly brings  on  the  stage  some  real  person  or  some 
actual  fact — he  has  introduced  a  coquette  into  it,  and 
he  reads  it  confidentially  to  a  few  ladies  who  are  very 


kind  to  him.  But  he  has  never  married,  although  he 
has  had  many  excellent  opportunities  for  doing  so.  For 
that  Varvara  Pavlovna  is  to  blame. 

As  for  her,  she  constantly  inhabits  Paris,  just  as  she 
used  to  do.  Lavretsky  has  opened  a  private  account 
for  her  with  his  banker,  and  has  paid  a  sufficient  sum 
to  ensure  his  being  free  from  her — free  from  the  possi- 
bility of  being  a  second  time  unexpectedly  visited  by 
her.  She  has  grown  older  and  stouter,  but  she  is  still 
undoubtedly  handsome,  and  always  dresses  in  taste. 
Every  one  has  his  ideal.  Varvara  Pavlovna  has  found 
hers — in  the  plays  of  M.  Dumas  fils.  She  assiduously 
frequents  the  theatres  in  which  consumptive  and  senti- 
mental Camelias  appear  on  the  boards ;  to  be  Madame 
Doche  seems  to  her  the  height  of  human  happiness. 
She  once  announced  that  she  could  not  wish  her 
daughter  a  happier  fate.  It  may,  however,  be  expected 
that  destiny  will  save  Mademoiselle  Ada  from  that  kind 
of  happiness.  From  being  a  chubby,  rosy  child,  she 
has  changed  into  a  pale,  weak-chested  girl,  and  her 
nerves  are  already  unstrung.  The  number  of  Varvara 
Pavlovna's  admirers  has  diminished,  but  they  have  not 
disappeared.  Some  of  them  she  will,  in  all  probability, 
retain  to  the  end  of  her  days.  This  most  ardent  of 
them  in  recent  times  has  been  a  certain  Zakurdalo- 
Skubyrnikof,  a  retired  officer  of  the  guard,  a  man  of 
about  thirty-eight  years  of  age,  wearing  long  mustaches, 
and  possessing  a  singularly  vigorous  frame.  The 
Frenchmen  who  frequent  Madame  Lavretsky 's  drawing- 


3°9 

room  call  him  Ic  gros  taureau  de  r Ukraine.  Varvara 
Pavlovna  never  invites  him  to  her  fashionable  parties, 
but  he  is  in  full  possession  of  her  good  graces. 

And  so — eight  years  had  passed  away.  Again  spring 
shone  from  heaven  in  radiant  happiness.  Again  it 
smiled  on  earth  and  on  man.  Again,  beneath  its 
caress,  all  things  began  to  love,  to  flower,  to  sing. 

The  town  of  O.  had  changed  but  little  in  the  course 
of  these  eight  years,  but  Madame  Kalitine's  house  had, 
as  it  were,  grown  young  again.  Its  freshly-painted  walls 
shone  with  a  welcome  whiteness,  while  the  panes  of  its 
open  windows  flashed  ruddy  to  the  setting  sun.  Out 
of  these  windows  there  flowed  into  the  street  mirthful 
sounds  of  ringing  youthful  voices,  of  never-ceasing 
laughter.  All  the  house  seemed  teemi-ng  with  life  and 
overflowing  with  irrepressible  merriment.  As  for  the 
former  mistress  of  the  house,  she  had  been  laid  in  the 
grave  long  ago.  Maria  Dmitrievna  died  two  years 
after  Liza  took  the  veil.  Nor  did  Marfa  Timofeevna 
long  survive  her  niece  ;  they  rest  side  by  side  in  the 
cemetery  of  the  town.  Nastasia  Carpovna  also  was  no 
longer  alive.  During  the  course  of  several  years  the 
faithful  old  lady  used  to  go  every  day  to  pray  at  her 
friend's  grave.  Then  her  time  came,  and  her  bones 
also  were  laid  in  the  mould. 

But  Maria  Dmitrievna's  house  did  not  pass  into  the 
hands  of  strangers,  did  not  go  out  of  her  family — the 
nest  was  not  torn  to  pieces.  Lenochka,  who  had  grown 
into  a  pretty  and  graceful  girl ;  her  betrothed,  a  flaxen 


3  io  Liza. 

locked  officer  of  hussars;  Maria  Dmitrievna's  son,  vsho 
had  only  recently  married  at  St.  Petersburg,  and  had 
now  arrived  with  his  young  bride  to  spend  the  spring 
in  O. ;  his  wife's  sister,  a  sixteen-year-old  Institute-girl, 
with  clear  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks ;  and  Shurochka,  who 
had  also  grown  up  and  turned  out  pretty — these  were 
the  young  people  who  made  the  walls  of  the  Kalitine 
house  resound  with  laughter  and  with  talk.  Every 
thing  was  altered  in  the  house,  every  thing  had  been 
made  to  harmonize  with  its  new  inhabitants.  Beardless 
young  servant-lads,  full  of  fun  and  laughter,  had  re- 
placed the  grave  old  domestics  of  former  days.  A 
couple  of  setters  tore  wildly  about  and  jumped  upon 
the  couches,  in  the  rooms  up  and  down  which  Roska, 
after  it  had  grown  fat,  used  to  waddle  seriously.  In  the 
stable  many  horses  were  stalled — clean-limbed  canter- 
ers,  smart  trotters  for  the  centre  .of  the  troika,  fiery 
gallopers  with  platted  manes  for  the  side  places,  riding 
horses  from  the  Don.  The  hours  for  breakfast,  dinner, 
and  supper,  were  all  mixed  up  and  confounded  together 
In  the  words  of  neighbors,-"  Such  a  state  of  things  as 
never  had  been  known  before  "  had  taken  place. 

On  the  evening  of  which  we  are  about  to  speak,  the 
inmates  of  the  Kalitine  house,  of  whom  the  eldest,  Len- 
ochka's  betrothed,  was  not  more  than  four-and-twenty, 
had  taken  to  playing  a  game  which  was  not  of  a  very 
complicated  nature,  but  which  seemed  to  be  very  amus- 
ing to  them,  to  judge  by  their  happy  laughter, — that  of 
running  about  the  rooms,  and  trying  to  catch  each  other 


3" 

The  dogs,  too,  ran  about  and  barked  :  and  the  canaries 
which  hung  up  in  cages  before  the  windows,  straining 
their  throats  in  rivalry,  heightened  the  general  uproar 
by  the  piercing  accents  of  their  shrill  singing.  Just  as 
this  deafening  amusement  had  reached  its  climax,  atar- 
antass,  all  splashed  with  mud,  drew  up  at  the  front  gate, 
.  and  a  man  about  forty-five  years  old,  wearing  a  travel- 
ling dress,  got  out  of  it  and  remained  standing  as  if  be- 
wildered. 

For  some  time  he  stood  at  the  gate  without  moving, 
but  gazing  at  the  house  with  observant  eyes ;  then  he 
entered  the  court-yard  by  the  wicket-gate,  and  slowly 
mounted  the  steps.  He  encountered  no  one  in  the  ves- 
tibule ;  but  suddenly  the  drawing-room  door  was  flung 
open,  and  Shurochka,  all  rosy  red,  came  running  out  of 
the  room  ;  and  directly  afterwards,  with  shrill  cries,  the 
whole  of  the  youthful  band  rushed  after  her.  Sudden- 
ly, at  the  sight  of  an  unknown  stranger,  they  stopped 
short,  and  became  silent ;  but  the  bright  eyes  which 
were  fixed  on  him  still  retained  their  friendly'  expres- 
sion, the  fresh  young  faces  did  not  cease  to  smile. 
Then  Maria  Dmitrievna's  son  approached  the  visitor, 
and  politely  asked  what  he  could  do  for  him. 

"  I  am  Lavretsky,"  said  the  stranger. 

A  friendly  cry  of  greeting  answered  him — not  that 
all  those  young  people  were  inordinately  delighted  at 
the  arrival  of  a  distant  and  almost  forgotten  relative, 
but  simply  because  they  were  ready  to  rejoice  and  make 
a  noise  over  every  pleasurable  occurrence.  They  all 


3 1 2  Liza. 

immediately  surrounded  Lavretsky.  Lenochka,  as  his 
old  acquaintance,  was  the  first  to  name  herself,  assuring 
him  that,  if  she  had  had  a  very  little  more  time,  she  would 
most  certainly  have  recognized  him  ;  and  then  she  in 
troduced  all  the  rest  of  the  company  to  him,  giving 
them  all,  her  betrothed  included,  their  familiar  forms  of 
name.  The  whole  party  then  went  through  the  dining- 
room  into  the  drawing-room.  The  paper  on  the  walls  of 
both  rooms  had  been  altered,  but  the  furniture  remained 
just  as  it  used  to  be.  Lavretsky  recognized  the  piano. 
Even  the  embroidery-frame  by  the  window  remained  ex- 
actly as  it  had  been,  and  in  the  very  same  position  as 
of  old ;  and  even  seemed  to  have  the  same  unfinished 
piece  of  work  on  it  which  had  been  there  eight  years 
before.  They  placed  him  in  a  large  arm-chair,  and  sat 
down  gravely  around  him.  Questions,  exclamations, 
anecdotes,  followed  swiftly  one  after  another. 

"  What  a  long  time  it  is  since  we  saw  you  last !  "  na'i've- 
ly  remarked  Lenochka ;  "  and  we  haven't  seen  Varvara 
Pavlovna  either." 

"  No  wonder  !  "  her  brother  hastily  interrupted  her 
— -"  I  took  you  away  to  St.  Petersburg  ;  but  Fedor  Ivan- 
ovich  has  lived  all  the  time  on  his  estate." 

"  Yes,  and  mamma  too  is  dead,  since  then." 

"  And  Marfa  Timofeevna,"  said  Shurochka. 

"And  Nastasia  Corpovna,"  continued  Lenochka, 
"and  Monsieur  Lemm." 

"  What  ?  is  Lemm  dead  too  ?  "  asked  Lavretsky. 

"  Yes,"  answered  young  Kalitine.     "  He  went  away 


3*3 

from  here  to  Odessa.     Some  one  is  said  to  have  per- 
suaded him  to  go  there,  and  there  he  died." 

"  You  don't  happen  to  know  if  he  left  any  music  be- 
hind ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  should  scarcely  think  so." 

A  general  silence  ensued,  and  each  one  of  the  party 
looked  at  the  others.  A  shade  of  sadness  swept  over 
all  the  youthful  faces. 

'•'  But  Matros  is  alive,"  suddenly  cried  Lenochka. 

"  And  Gedeonovsky  is  alive,"  added  her  brother. 

The  name  of  Gedeonovsky  at  once  called  forth  a 
merry  laugh. 

"  Yes,  he  is  still  alive  ;  and  he  tells  stories  just  as  he 
used  to  do,"  continued  the  young  Kalitine — "  only  fan- 
cy !  this  mad-cap  here  "  (pointing  to  his  wife's  sister  the 
Institute-girl)  "  put  a  quantity  of  pepper  into  his  snuff- 
box yesterday." 

"  How  he  did  sneeze  !  "  exclaimed  Lenochka — and 
irrepressible  laughter  again  broke  out  on  all  sides. 

"  We  had  news  of  Liza  the  other  day,"  said  young 
Kalitine.  And  again  silence  fell  upon  all  the  circle. 
"  She  is  going  on  well — her  health  is  gradually  being 
restored  now." 

"  Is  she  still  in  the  same  convent  ? "  Lavretsky  asked, 
not  without  an  effort. 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  she  ever  write  to  you  ? " 

"  No,  never.  We  get  news  of  her  from  other  quar- 
ters." 

14 


314 

A  profound  silence  suddenly  ensued.  "  An  angel 
has  noiselessly  flown  past,"  they  all  thought. 

"  Won't  you  go  into  the  garden  ?  "  said  Kalitine,  ad- 
dressing Lavretsky.  "  It  is  very  pleasant  now,  although 
we  have  neglected  it  a  little." 

Lavretsky  went  into  the  garden,  and  the  first  thing 
he  saw  there  was  that  very  bench  on  which  he  and  Liza 
had  once  passed  a  few  happy  moments — moments  that 
never  repeated  themselves.  It  had  grown  black  and 
warped,  but  still  he  recognized  it,  and  that  feeling  took 
possession  of  his  heart  which  is  unequalled  as  well  for 
sweetness  as  for  bitterness — the  feeling  of  lively  regret, 
for  vanished  youth,  for  once  familiar  happiness. 

He  walked  by  the  side  of  the  young  people  along 
the  alleys.  The  lime-trees  looked  older  than  before, 
having  grown  a  little  taller  during  the  last  eight  years, 
and  casting  a  denser  shade.  All  the  underwood,  also, 
had  grown  higher,  and  the  raspberry-bushes  had  spread 
vigorously,  and  the  hazel  copse  was  thickly  tangled. 
From  every  side  exhaled  a  fresh  odor  from  the  forest 
and  the  wood,  from  the  grass  and  the  lilacs. 

"  What  a  capital  place  for  a  game  at  Puss  in  the 
Corner !  "  suddenly  cried  Lenochka,  as  they  entered 
upon  a  small  grassy  lawn  surrounded  by  lime-trees. 
"There  are  just  five  of  us." 

"  But  have  you  forgotten  Fedor  Ivanovich  ? "  asked 
her  brother;  "or  is  it  yourself  you  have  not  count' 
ed?" 

Lenochka  blushed  a  little. 


Liza. 


3*5 


"  But  would  Fedw-r  Ivanovich  like — at  his  age " 

she  began  stammering. 

"  Please  play  away,"  hastily  interposed  Lavretsky  ; 
"  don't  pay  any  attention  to  me.  I  shall  feel  more  com- 
fortable if  I  know  I  am  not  boring  you.  And  there  is 
no  necessity  for  your  finding  me  something  to  do.  We 
old  people  have  a  resource  which  you  don't  know  yet, 
and  which  is-  better  than  any  amusement — recollec- 
tion." 

The  young  people-  listened  to  Lavretsky  with  re- 
spectful, though  slightly  humorous  politeness,  just  as  if 
they  were  listening  to  a  teacher  who  was  reading  them 
a  lesson — then  they  all  suddenly  left  him,  and  ran  off  to 
the  lawn.  One  of  them  stood  in  the  middle,  the  others 
occupied  the  four  corners  by  the  trees,  and  the  game 
began. 

But  Lavretsky  returned  to  the  house,  went  into  the 
dining-room,  approached  the  piano,  and  touched  one  of 
the  notes.  It  responded  with  a  faint  but  clear  sound, 
and  a  shudder  thrilled  his  heart  within  him.  With  that 
note  began  the  inspired  melody,  by  means  of  which,  on 
that  most  happy  night  long  ago,  Lemm,  the  dead 
Lemm,  had  thrown  him  into  such  raptures.  Then 
Lavretsky  passed  into  the  drawing-room,  and  did  not . 
leave  it  for  a  long  time. 

In  that  room,  in  which  he  had  seen  Liza  so  often, 
her  image  floated  more  distinctly  before  him ;  the 
traces  of  her  presence  seemed  to  make  themselves  felt 
around  him  there.  But  his  sorrow  for  her  loss  became 


3 1 6  Liza. 

painful  and  crushing;  it  bore  with  it  none  of  the  tran 
quillity  which  death  inspires.  Liza  was  still  living  some- 
where, far  away  and  lost  to  sight.  He  thought  of  her 
as  he  had  known  her  in  actual  life  ;  he  could  not  recog- 
nize the  girl  he  used  to  love  in  that  pale,  dim,  ghosciy 
form,  half-  hidden  in  a  nun's  dark  robe,  and  surrounded 
by  waving  clouds  of  incense. 

Nor  would  Lavretsky  have  been  able  to  recognize 
himself,  if  he  could  have  looked  at  himself  as  he  in 
fancy  was  looking  at  Liza.  In  the  course  of  those  eight 
years  his  life  had  attained  its  final  crisis — that  crisis 
which  many  people  never  experience,  but  without  which 
no  man  can  be  sure  of  maintaining  his  principles  firm 
to  the  last.  He  had  really  given  up  thinking  about  his 
own  happiness,  about  what  would  conduce  to  his  own 
interests.  He  had  become  calm,  and — why  should  we 
conceal  the  truth  ? — he  had  aged  ;  and  that  not  in  face 
alone  or  frame,  but  he  had  aged  in  mind ;  for,  in- 
deed, not  only  is  it  difficult,  but  it  is  even  hazardous  to 
do  what  some  people  speak  of — to  preserve  the  heart 
young  in  bodily  old  age.  Contentment,  in  old  age,  is 
deserved  by  him  alone  who  has  not  lost  his  faith  in  what 
is  good,  his  persevering  strength  of  will,  his  desire  for 
active  employment.  And  Lavretsky  did  deserve  to  be 
contented  ;  he  had  really  become  a  good  landlord  ;  he 
had  really  learnt  how  to  till  the  soil ;  and  in  that  he  la- 
bored, he  labored  not  for  himself  alone,  but  he  had,  as 
far  as  in  him  lay  the  power,  assured,  and  obtained  guar- 
antees for,  the  welfare  of  the  peasantry  on  his  estates. 


Liza.  317 

Lavretsky  went  out  of  the  house  into  the  garden, 
and  sat  down  on  the  bench  he  knew  so  well.  There — 
on  that  loved  spot,  in  sight  of  that  house  in  which  he 
had  fruitlessly,  and  for  the  last  time,  stretched  forth  his 
hands  towards  that  cup  of  promise  in  which  foame.l 
and  sparkled  the  golden  wine  of  enjoyment, — he,  a  lone- 
ly, homeless  wanderer,  while  the  joyous  cries  of  that 
younger  generation  which  had  already  forgotten  him 
came  flying  to  his  ears,  gazed  steadily  at  his  past  life. 

His  heart  became  very  sorrowful,  but  it  was  free 
now  from  any  crushing  sense  of  pain.  He  had  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of;  he  had  many  sources  of  consolation. 
"  Play  on,  young  vigorous  lives  !  "  he  thought — and  his 
thoughts  had  no  taint  of  bitterness  in  them — "  the  fu- 
ture awaits  you,  and  your  path  of  life  in  it  will  be  com- 
paratively easy  for  you.  You  will  not  be  obliged,  as  we 
were,  to  seek  out  your  path,  to  struggle,  to  fall,  to  rise 
again  in  utter  darkness.  We  had  to  seek  painfully  by 
what  means  we  might  hold  out  to  the  end — and  how 
many  there  were  amongst  us  who  did  not  hold  out ! — 
but  your  part  is  now  to  act,  to  work — and  the  blessing 
of  old  men  like  me  shall  be  with  you.  For  my  part, 
after  the  day  I  have  spent  here,  after  the  emotions  I 
have  here  experienced,  nothing  remains  for  me  but  to 
bid  you  a  last  farewell ;  and,  although  sadly,  yet  with- 
out a  tinge  of  envy,  without  a  single  gloomy  feeling, 
to  say,  in  sight  of  death,  in  sight  of  my  awaiting 
God,  <  Hail,  lonely  old  age  !  Useless  life,  burn  yourself 
out ! ' " 


318  Liza. 

Lavretsky  rose  up  quietly,  and  quietly  went  away. 
No  one  observed  him,  no  one  prevented  him  from  go- 
ing. Louder  than  ever  sounded  the  joyous  cries  in  the 
garden,  behind  the  thick  green  walls  of  the  lofty  lime- 
trees.  Lavretsky  got  into  his  tarantass,  and  told  his 
coachman  to  drive  him  home  without  hurrying  the 
horses. 

"  And  is  that  the  end  ?  "  the  unsatisfied  reader  may 
perhaps  ask.  "  What  became  of  Lavretsky  afterwards  ? 
and  of  Liza  ? "  But  what  can  one  say  about  people 
who  are  still  alive,  but  who  have  already  quitted  the 
worldly  stage  ?  Why  should  we  turn  back  to  them  ?  It 
is  said  that  Lavretsky  has  visited  the  distant  convent  in 
which  Liza  has  hidden  herself — and  has  seen  her.  As 
she  crossed  from  choir  to  choir,  she  passed  close  by 
him — passed  onwards  steadily,  with  the  quick  but  silent 
step  of  a  nun,  and  did  not  look  at  him.  Only  an  al- 
most imperceptible  tremor  was  seen  to  move  the  eye- 
lashes of  the  eye  which  was  visible  to  him  ;  only  still 
lower  did  she  bend  her  emaciated  face  ;  and  the  fingers 
of  her  clasped  hands,  enlaced  with  her  rosary,  still 
more  closely  compressed  each  other. 

Of  what  did  they  both  think  ?  what  did  they  both 
feel  ?  Who  can  know  ?  who  shall  tell  ?  Life  has  its 
moments — has  its  feelings — to  which  we  may  be  allowed 
to  allude,  but  on  which  it  is  not  good  to  dwell. 

f  HE    END. 


(&  k. 

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